


Dark Times

by whatswiththemustache



Series: Whispers from the Waverider [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Companion to "his failsafe", Conflicting timelines, Drama, Multi, Rip angst, RipFic, The team meets younger angstier Rip, timetravel, who wants angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:51:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7077751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatswiththemustache/pseuds/whatswiththemustache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rip went back to try and save his family countless times, ignoring the timeline and any consequences of his interference. When the team arrives in 2166 to make a final attempt at stopping Savage, things don't go as planned and they meet someone from the past…a younger version of Rip, one who is ready to do anything in order to save his family.</p><p>Written because Captain Rip Hunter is very underappreciated. Also belatedly made to be a companion to "His Failsafe".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is a very sad lack of angsty Rip fics and I really needed one, so of course I decided to write one. Despite the fact that I literally have five other fics currently ongoing right now…uggh…well, doesn't matter. Rip is a much underappreciated character in the Legends of Tomorrow (I'd call it LoT, but that reminds me of LoTR and it's just too confusing) fandom. I will change this.
> 
> Enjoy the angst.

_Miranda. Jonas._

Those were two names that had gone through his mind too many times for him to count. At one point they had echoed through his thoughts ceaselessly, replacing everything else and driving him mad. No other thought - not one other desire or motive - had ever occurred to him. He could call it a dark time, looking back, but that wouldn't have been quite true; it hadn't been _dark_. It had been pitch black, completely void of any sort of light or reprieve. It had been hell.

A hell that he'd spent circling around one day, one _moment_ , endlessly - always trying to change it, alter that critical minute in which Savage pulled the trigger twice and ended their lives. _Miranda and Jonas_. His world. His everything.

He's gone back to that day so many times - it was impossible to keep track. Perhaps Gideon could, but he couldn't know. That time was a black hole in his memory, a blank space. An empty slot that wasn't _quite_ so, just because it held two names and two faces that wouldn't go away. _Miranda. Jonas_.

All he could remember was pain.

He'd watched them die so many times that he couldn't even remember the aftermath, or the moments in between; for the most part, all he could picture was their faces as they fell to the ground. Their eyes, as the light faded and that terrible glassiness of death returned once more. That and the sound of his heart breaking again, and _again_ , until there wasn't really anything left but it broke anyway, again and again into nothing.

He knew - he _knew_ \- that there had to have been moments in between; there _were_ , he knew, and Gideon confirmed it. If he imagined it, he could see it - Miranda would look up with that bright gleam of astonishment in her eye, and Jonas would tilt his head and light up with a smile. He would wrap his arms around them both, clutching them as tightly as he could, and Miranda would smile and kiss him, and Jonas would laugh as he burrowed between them. He could see it, for a moment, and it felt so familiar that he knew it must have happened, but he couldn't _remember_ it. All he could remember was death.

He should have stopped after the first few times. Logically he knew that, but thinking back, he didn't - _couldn_ ' _t -_ regret a single attempt. He only regretted the failure that each attempt ended in, and the look on their faces as they died. Again. _Miranda, Jonas_.

So he hadn't stopped. In that time, that haze of running and crying and endless death, he'd completely lost himself; at some point he stopped bothering to worry about the time line, and at some point he stopped listening to Gideon's warnings. All he heard was their names, their voices calling out to him as they fell, _again_. But he didn't stop trying.

At some point, he didn't even care what he had to do in order to save them. He fought. He killed. He nearly died - sometimes, he tried to. It didn't matter. Didn't matter to him, and didn't matter regardless because _nothing worked_ , and they _always_ died.

At some point, they were as dead in his mind as they were in reality. He would watch them die, and he'd scream as he always did, but it wasn't out of shock or sorrow like it was at first - it was frustration, anger, _rage_. It became normal, and he hated himself for allowing it.

As time went on, he grew to hate everything. After all, time _was_ everything and time wanted his family dead. _Time_ \- something that he'd been taught to protect and work with - was doing everything it could to keep him from saving them, and he _hated_ it.

He hated it all. Everything - he could take comfort in nothing.

Nothing, except an old recording that he'd memorized long, long ago...even to the point that it played in his head, echoing round and round, taunting him even in his dreams. Of course, _dreams_ were never anything less than _nightmares_ , twisting truth and time into things even more terrifying than they could possibly be in reality...

There was never any refuge, any escape. _Dark times_. What a poor excuse of a phrase - descriptive or otherwise, it doesn't do reality justice. Especially because of the implication that it's in the past - a dark time. A specific period, over and done with now. It isn't so, for Rip. The darkness may have been pushed back, shoved away into a tight nook of his mind - out of sight, but never far from breaking lose. They hadn't _been_ dark times - it _is_ a dark time, a dark existence.

For Rip, it _is_ and probably always will be. The past isn't _in_ the past; it's just tucked away in his mind, ready to break lose and torment him at any given moment. That dark time will never go away.

**London, 2166**

The orders have already been rattled off - Snart and Rory are suposed to go and steal Kendra's old bracelet; Ray, Stein, and Jax are accompanying Rip to the rebel's camp; Sara and Kendra are left to figure out exactly how one would go about killing an immortal psychopath with a piece of jewelry. Sara knows her job really is important, but she can't help but feel like it's busy work. The feeling is irritating, to say the least.

Apparently, Kendra feels the same way - she signs heavily and rolls her eyes a little as they make their way towards the archive where all of her son's work is stored. Then again, perhaps it's just the stress and anxiety that Kendra must be feeling - sometimes, it's a little hard to tell.

Either way, they're both noticeably irritable as they prepare to get to work searching for any useful information. Sara sighs again, letting her arms hang heavily at her sides, and tilts her head in Kendra's direction.

"Is it just me, or does this seem really pointless to you?"

Kendra bites her lip and lowers her eyes, slowing. "...Yeah, it does. Killing Savage with a bracelet - I just don't see _how_..."

Sara can usually count on Kendra to be less than entirely optimistic, so it's no surprise - but it is nice to have an agreeable partner in crime, or heroism, or whatever. Agenda or no agenda, it's just more comfortable.

Sara doesn't have an agenda, at the moment, but those are never hard to come up with. "I wonder if Savage knows about this whole object-present-at-first-death turning into a weapon...thing."

Kendra frowns and tilts her head in thought. "Well...I don't know, but I wouldn't put it past him."

Sara frowns as well, now, because something has occurred to her and it doesn't seem good. Trailing to a halt, she turns to face Kendra head-on. "He's known a lot of things, so far. So - assuming that he _does_ know...why would he give the bracelet to that woman? He knows that we're after him, and he knows that we can use the bracelet to kill him. Convenient, isn't it, that we can just snatch the weapon right off someone's arm..."

Kendra has stopped too, at that point - she stares at Sara with a half-intrigued and half-dubious look in her eyes. "Except that it's _not_ a weapon...it's just a bracelet," reminds Kendra, shaking her head.

Sara looks down, her forehead creased in thought. _Not a weapon._..true, and yet...

"As far as we know, it's not. But," says Sara as she raises her gaze once again, a conspiratorial light in her eye. "What if it _is_?"

Kendra's expression has turned to one of bewilderment. "But...what do you mean? How could it be - it's just a bracelet!"

"Maybe it's _not_ just a bracelet."

It's then that Kendra seems to catch on. She lips make an 'o' of realization as she narrows her eyes, thinking. "You mean...well, Savage _has_ had countless years with it. I suppose...what if he _did_ do something to it? If he somehow - I don't know, gave it some sort of...powers?" Kendra scoffs, rolling her eyes slightly. "That sounds kind of ridiculous..."

Sara nods. "And that still doesn't explain why he would give something like that to one of his soldiers. Even if she is his lieutenant, or second in command, or _whatever_ \- does he really trust her that much?"

"I don't think he trusts anyone, other than himself."

Sara crosses her arms. "So, he doesn't trust her, and he gives her a bracelet that's potentially lethal to him and that he may or may not have already altered to be a weapon...all the while knowing that we may and probably _do_ know about the whole bracelet-is-a-weapon thing as well." The summary sounds decidedly incomplete, and they both know it.

"Well, I hate to say it, but..." Kendra raises one slender eyebrow, grimacing.

"Trap? Yeah, it's sort of looking that way." They both stand there for a moment, finding that there isn't really anything left to add. Sara's muscles already feel tensed, ready to jump into action, and Kendra doesn't look so reluctant anymore either.

With a terse nod, Sara turns and strides back the way they'd just came. "Right, let's go warn them."

When Sara and Kendra arrive back on the flight deck, they find it disappointingly empty. It seems like everyone's already left the ship. Sara asks Gideon if anyone else is on board, just to clarify, and the answer is presented in a crisp British accent.

"No, Ms. Lance, only Ms. Saunders and you are on board at this time. Captain Hunter has already left with Mr. Palmer, Mr. Jackson, and Professor Stein. Also, Mr. Snart and Mr. Rory have departed to perform their illegal task."

Gideon's voice is as perfectly cheery as ever, and her words are met with a pair of exasperated sighs. Kendra places her hands on the back of one of the time jump seats, throwing back her head. "I can't believe they left so _soon_! Don't they need - I don't know, _supplies_ or something?"

"Both teams left with all the gear they required." Gideon answers crisply.

Sara shrugs as she turns to Kendra, raising her eyebrows. "Well, I guess that means we're going to have to follow them -" she pauses, frowning, as a sharp noise suddenly fills the room.

_Be-ee-eep, be-ee-eep, be-ee-eep._

The sound is met with silence. Finally Sara opens her mouth curiously, looking upwards. "Gideon, what is that?"

The reply is nearly instantaneous, and completely cheerful despite the context. "The signal is to be disregarded."

Turning around slightly, Kendra and Sara exchange a look. Both are curious now, with no hope of 'disregarding' the sound. "Okay, but what _is_ it?" asks Sara, her tone bordering on impatient.

It might be that Gideon's reply is hesitant, this time - maybe just a second late.

"It is Captain Hunter's distress signal."

A moment of silence, then -" _What_?" They exclaim in unison, starting forward. " _Distress_ signal? Why aren't we _doing_ something about it?"

"I have orders to disregard any distress signal sent by Captain Hunter, effective for as long as we remain in this time period."

Something about Gideon's cheerful voice makes the situation seem all the worse - Sara squares her shoulders with a frown, crossing her arms. "Who gave you that order?"

There's not a second of delay. "Captain Hunter, of course."


	2. Chapter 2

Gideon seems completely unmoved by Sara and Kendra's immediate, panicked reaction to her words – the AI stays silent, offering no further advice or guidance. Sara's thoughts run subconsciously, and she thinks that whoever designed this thing really should have programmed it so it wouldn't be so damn nonchalant about serious and possibly life-altering things - the thought is irrelevant, stupid, and she snaps back into focus.

"Where did the signal come from? Can you get a location?" _Get doing, do something, no time for thinking._

"I have already deleted any information obtained from the distress signal."

" _What_?" It's Kendra who gasps the word this time, her surprise evident. "But - surely you can -" She's cut off by the sound of sharp beeping - _be-ee-eep, be-ee-eep._

"And what's that?" asks Sara in a hard voice, knowing exactly what the answer will be. Gideon does not disappoint.

"It's another distress signal sent by Captain Hunter."

" _Another_ one?" Kendra's frown seems to cut into her smooth brow, deep and empathetic. "What's _happening_ out there?"

Beneath her mask of calm, Sara's heart is beating loud and hard. "Gideon, _don't_ delete the information -!" A faint sense of hope - it's there one second, gone the next.

"My orders are to disregard and delete all information concerning distress signals sent by Captain Hunter in this time period."

"You've already _done_ it?!" cried Kendra, leaping forward with panic.

"I have, Ms. Saunders."

" _Gaahh_!" Kendra's harsh sigh of frustration practically embodies exactly how Sara's feeling at the moment, but she pushes it aside.

"Well, can you tell us where they are right now? Can you locate their–uh, signal?" inquires Sara urgently, eyes narrowed.

There's a pause, deliberate. "Captain Hunter, Professor Stein, Mr. Jackson and Mr. Palmer are near the outskirts of the rebel camp."

There's no time to sigh in relief, no time to be thankful for getting even the slightest bit of information. "And are they hurt?"

"According to my scans, none of them have obtained any injuries."

There sounds like there's a definite _but_ to that sentence - Sara would ask, except she gets the feeling that the AI won't be very forthcoming. Instead, she turns to Kendra with a frown. "We need to help them."

Kendra does nod, but there's a different light of determination in her eyes. "If whatever happened is something they can't handle, then we're probably not going to be able to do much good if it's just us." She raises her eyebrows suggestively, and Sara nods.

"Right - Gideon, can you tell us where Snart and Rory are?"

* * *

It's just minutes later that Kendra and Sara touch down in front of a suspicious-looking pair of criminals. Snart and his fiery partner-in-crime hadn't gotten very far from the ship - just over a mile, but Kendra insisted that they fly there anyway. Sara was honestly not at all fond of the idea, but logically it made sense so she couldn't refuse. Flying through the air with a reincarnated Egyptian priestess wasn't really an experience that she wanted to repeat, despite how appealing it may _sound_.

Snart and Rory are a little suspicious at the sight, nonetheless - they don't get _fazed_ , of course, because they never really do, but they are suspicious. Snart raises an eyebrow, twisting his lips into a smirk. "Miss us so soon?" He asks lightly in his usual slow drawl.

Sara doesn't feel like even pretending that she has time for jokes or witty retorts. "The rest of the team's in trouble," states Sara flatly, striding up to the two men. "We need to go help them."

"In trouble how?" growls Rory, squinting at Sara. She shakes her head, wishing that people would listen more and ask questions less.

"We don't know, Gideon just got a distress signal from them a few minutes ago - apparently they're near the rebel camp right now, so we've got to hurry and get there." Kendra replies quickly, waving for Snart and Rory follow her. Unfortunately Kendra isn't strong enough to carry all three of them, so they'll have to get to the others on foot this time.

"And here I thought that we'd _actually_ get to do some stealing for once," says Snart irritably, though Sara can tell that he's not really mad. She turns back towards him, lips turning up in a slight smile.

"Well, the night's still young..."

Snart just scoffs, and the four of them fall silent as they march along in haste. There's only the sound of their shoes crunching over the rocky ground. For a moment, anyway...

They've only taken a few steps when everything goes to hell.

The sound of several explosions comes from the left, loud and jarring, and the four of them jump in shock just in time to see a dozen bright beams of light – energy blasts – shooting recklessly through the air. The commotion is taking place about a hundred meters away from them, but apparently the fight doesn't seem to want to stay contained. Snart is the quickest to act, this time, as he ducks away behind some greenery, motioning for the others to follow.

The four of them duck behind sharp, prickly bushes and crane their necks to try and see what's going on without giving themselves away. "Are those Savage's soldiers fighting?" Kendra asks worriedly, squinting in the dim light.

"Probably," replies Sara, narrowing her eyes. "The question is, _who_ are they fighting?"

"Yeah, and whether or not we should go join them," drawls Snart in a grim voice as he throws quick glances over his shoulder. From the other side of the bushes, an especially loud explosion seems to pulse through the air, punctuated by several screams of pain and fear.

"Let's go join them anyway," says Rory, his forehead creasing with the thought of battle. He lifts his heat gun into the air with a flourish, giving a twisted smile. "Sounds like fun."

"In case you've already forgotten, we're _supposed_ to go and help the rest of the team back at the rebel camp," stresses Sara angrily, giving the two trigger-happy men a glare. "We don't have _time_ to get caught up in more fighting as long as our friends are in danger."

More beams of light dart through the air, casting sparse light across their faces for a brief moment. Sara scowls and makes to get up, motioning for them to follow her – but suddenly there's another yell sounding from behind them, one strangely familiar and yet jarringly _not_.

Sara freezes, and in the next second they're all standing, squinting at the bright scene before them – guns flashing, men running, flames jumping. It looks like a nightmare, all speed and guns and death at a second's decision – she can barely make it out, but it seems like there's some sort of order to the battle. Or at least, the soldiers seem to sort of know what they're doing; they've gathered into a sort of crescent formation, pressing towards what looks like a single opposing figure. A figure from which an onslaught of blue energy blasts emanate, striking down man after man with deadly precision – very _familiar_ blue energy blasts.

Kendra voices the question burning on Sara's tongue. "Is that…?"

It's dark, hard to see – especially with all the weapons discharging, bright and flashing – but Sara seems to already know, even before seeing real proof, that it's him. She strains her eyes, staring hard at the figure – he's ducking for cover, shooting blast after blast at the soldiers. It's a man, that's for sure. He's crouching unsteadily, seeming to favor his left side while allowing his arm to hang limply, and it looks like he's wearing some sort of long garment – it's a coat, she sees, and then she can't _unsee_ Rip's long trench coat, a constant accessory. The man has a slight beard and mustache – the light shines off his facial hair, glinting with a warm red-brown in the flashing light–

Sara forces a large gulp of air into her lungs, swallowing down the shock. "It's him," she states, keeping her eyes on the fight. "It's Rip."

She doesn't look at them, but she can _feel_ the others shifting uneasily, their expressions undoubtedly morphing into frowns of dismay. "How did he get here?" wonders Kendra in confusion, her bewilderment bleeding into her voice. "The signal – Gideon said it was from the rebel camp. How did he get all the way out _here_?"

"And more importantly – why?" asks Snart suspiciously. Sara shakes her head at the both of them, already reaching for her weapons tucked away in her suit.

"Ask questions later. Right now, we need to help him!"

She's the first to jump into action, running out onto the field. From behind her, the others are quick to follow – Kendra sighs determinedly, while Snart remains silent and Rory releases a pleased growl. In moments they've all entered the fray.

It's just like any battle, albeit darker and filled with more flashing lights; Sara lets herself slip into a fighting mode, thinking of nothing but to swing and duck and jump and bash heads together. That, and – she can't help but spare a glance at Rip every so often. Their captain has stood, finally, and is still firing his gun persistently, over and over – the sight makes her uneasy, and she doesn't have the time to wonder why. It's just a lingering feeling, an idea that something isn't right. But either way, Rip seems injured, and they need to hurry and get out of this mess. So she turns her focus back to fighting, to getting this over with.

Soon most of the soldiers are dealt with – Snart and Rory are pressing on towards the few stragglers left while Kendra is probably doing loop-de-loops somewhere above them, so Sara rolls her shoulders and draws in a deep breath, turning towards Rip. She's expecting familiarity – a thankful smile, a quick remark at their good timing – so the shock at what she _actually_ gets is like a slap in the face, hard and cold and stinging. Rip is standing with his weapon raised, pointing straight at her – and he seems more than ready to fire.

Sara stares for a moment, and so does Rip, and there's something different in his eyes. "What are you doing?" Her voice is muted, barely concealing her shock. Rip doesn't move, doesn't lower the gun – doesn't even appear to _recognize_ her–

Finally he narrows his eyes, and it's in such an unfamiliar way that it throws her. There's no light of humor in Rip's eyes – no compassion, not even the intensity that she's grown used to. There's no…life. "Who are you?" asks Rip slowly, suspicion dripping from the words. "What do you want from me?"

Sara raises her hands slowly, eyes wide, heart pounding – she's suddenly racing to take in everything about him, the way he's standing, how his eyes are darting around frantically, and her thoughts seem to shudder to a halt. _What…_ "It's me," she says slowly. "It's Sara."

Rip's eyes narrow even further, and suddenly he's striding unsteadily towards her – Sara balks, stumbling back, completely lost. But there isn't really any time to be lost because in the next second Snart and Rory are shouting, and there's a soldier running towards them, and a blinding flash of light sends half a dozen energy blasts straight at them. Sara is busy jumping back, avoiding the shots, but she's only barely focused and so she completely misses the fact that over half of the blasts aren't headed at her. And one of them hits its mark.

Rip is thrown off balance as the blast hits him, spinning and falling onto his side – Sara shouts out in panic before she even knows what she's doing, and in an instant she's at his side trying to roll him onto his back. An angry growl sounds from somewhere below her, and just as she's carefully placing her hands on his shoulder – the man on the ground lashes out, twisting and sending a flailing punch straight for her jaw. Sara sprawls back onto the ground, more shocked than anything else.

The man – Rip, but so _not_ Rip – glares at Sara for a moment, but his eyes are going in and out of focus and he's wavering unsteadily. Sara can't really tell but she knows that he has his right hand pressed tightly against his lower abdomen, and there's something dark and wet seeping out from behind his hand. Sara just stares, and in another second he finally slumps to the ground, unconscious.

It's only then that Snart and Rory reach her – the heavy sound of wings comes from behind, and then Kendra is sliding to a stop beside her too. Everyone's eyes are wide with panic, their breathing erratic.

"Is he okay?" Kendra's words are sharp like glass, especially because Sara can't seem to grasp them – or the answer.

"I don't know," she replies finally, and she knows she's lying.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

They take him back to the ship.

They're all quiet as they go, no conversation whatsoever, and it's no surprise. Their unconscious captain is slowly bleeding out – the blast didn't seem to have caused too much damage, but it's deep and not one of them really knows any first aid. The med bay back on the ship, however, will be able to – they'd all seen how quickly the system had stabilized Kendra, that time she'd been stabbed by Savage, and so their only goal at the moment is to get back to the ship as quickly as possible. Apparently Kendra can't fly him back – she has a reason, but Sara doesn't listen. They don't have time. Snart and Rory carry Rip – they run.

By the time they get to near where the Waverider is hidden, Rip is pale and cool to the touch. They're all anxious to get on board – every second seems to drag on endlessly, so maybe that's why when they first arrive at the base of the ship, the few seconds it usually takes for the door to open seem so long. But a few seconds pass, and then a few more, and the door still refuses to open.

Sara exchanges a confused glance with the others, but they're just as clueless and the door is still closed.

Kendra steps forward, slamming her palm against the side of the ship. "Gideon?" calls Kendra, looking around with a frown. "Open the door!"

"Isn't there a way to do it manually?" asks Sara, glancing at Snart and Rory in question – they both shrug, and Sara frowns. That doesn't seem right – but they have bigger things to worry about.

Kendra smacks her hand against the exterior of the ship once more, yelling, and cold sense of doubt just starts to set in on Sara's mind – _what if something's wrong? If we can't get onto the ship_ – finally, the door shifts and slowly lowers itself to the ground with a reluctant-sounding whir.

In an instant they all hurry on board. Kendra calls out again, her tone concerned. "Gideon? What's going on?"

She might have expected silence in reply – all of them jump a little when Gideon responds immediately, her voice as crisp as ever. "I do not recommend bringing him aboard the Waverider."

Another second goes by, and they all turn to exchange looks of bewilderment – Kendra frowns, her mouth gaping open. "You don't – _Gideon_ , he's – Rip's hurt, we need to get him to med bay…"

Gideon doesn't respond, this time, and Snart heaves a heavy sigh. "Why don't we forget about the obsessive computer and focus on getting Rip to the med bay before he _actually_ bleeds out?"

In minutes they've managed to get Rip to the med bay and have laid him out on the reclining patients' chair. The red stain on Rip's shirt has spread, but it doesn't seem to be bleeding uncontrollably – they only have to wait a moment before a report is given. Gideon's voice is as precise as ever; Sara almost thinks she hears a note of reluctance, but that couldn't be and so she ignores it.

"His condition is stable," says the AI. "The wound is fairly severe, but no internal organs have been ruptured; therefore, the damage can be repaired with a high likelihood of success. The main concerns currently are exhaustion and malnutrition."

"…wait, _what_?"

Sara is the one who speaks out in shock, stepping forward; everyone else in the room is quick to join her, taking the few steps that bring them in a loosely-knit circle around the unconscious Rip. They're all frowning in disbelief, because – surely, that couldn't be true. This is their excessive, controlling captain that they're talking about –

But Sara finds her frown deepening after a moment, because – just moments ago, this man was aiming a deadly weapon at her and was about to fire. He'd punched her in the jaw, after getting shot himself – not like Rip at all. Is malnutrition and exhaustion the reason for all that, as unlikely as it seems? Or – what?

She's lost in thought until the others' conversation snaps her back into the present.

"...looks like Captain here can't take care of himself as well as he pretends." Rory, growling with his usual indifference. Snart snorts, shaking his head.

"He's always been something of a hypocrite, but…"

"Not to disregard this whole…thing," says Kendra hesitantly, frowning with confusion. "But – how in the world did Rip get there in time to get into a fight with Savage's soldiers? Gideon told us that he was near the rebel camp, and we basically flew straight over to Snart and Rory after that. It doesn't make sense…"

Kendra trails off, staring at Rip's unconscious form with a frown – Snart and Rory are wearing similar looks of apprehension, and Sara just takes a deep breath because something isn't right. It's not a question of maybe anymore.

"Um, why don't we go and talk back on the flight deck, okay?" Sara backs out of the med bay with raised eyebrows and a suspicious frown – the rest follow her out one by one, sparing last glances at their captain. The doors to the med bay slide shut with a decisive swish.

The flight deck is quiet – the same as it always is, probably, but the silence seems more pronounced than ever at the moment. Sara comes to stand beside the center console, wrapping her arms around her torso to combat the slight chill that seems to have sprung up across her skin. The others make their way to their usual positions – Rory throws himself into one of the time jump seats, Snart lounges casually by the doorway to Rip's 'office', and Kendra hesitantly places herself on the opposite side of the console.

Sara draws in a slow breath. "Something's wrong with him."

Kendra scoffs slightly at her words, while Snart rolls his eyes.

"Yup," says Snart, drawing the word out slowly. "I think we all gathered that much."

"No, I mean more than just that," clarifies Sara, shaking her head. "When we were on the field – before he got shot, I tried to talk to him but he didn't know who I was. He tried to shoot me, but he got hit before he could."

Her words are met with disbelief. Snart and Rory exchange frowns, while Kendra takes a step forward with wide eyes. "He tried to _shoot_ you?"

"He was about to," amends Sara. "And then he punched me in the face." Sara adds the last comment lightly, still feeling vaguely surprised at Rip's sudden move. She certainly hadn't been expecting it – if she had, his fist never would have come close.

"Kudos to him," murmurs Snart, just loud enough to be heard – he meets Sara's eye with a smirk, but she ignores him.

"The point is – something happened to him," says Sara firmly, crossing her arms with a frown. "And I don't think that 'exhaustion and malnutrition' can really be the cause of all that. An hour ago, he was fine."

"Maybe he just got hit on the head," suggests Rory – that usual light is still glinting in his eye. Everyone ignores him.

"Well, we still haven't figured out how Rip got all the way out there, either," says Kendra, waving a hand. "Gideon told us that they were by the rebel camp."

The mention of the rebel camp sends a spark of cold through Sara's body, sharp and guilty. "Wait – what about the rest of the team? If they got separated – or…"

The thought is chilling – everyone falls silent with dread, thinking of the rest of the team. _Professor Stein, Jax, Ray…_ what could have happened? If Rip's condition is anything to go by –

 _We've got to find them_. Sara starts, glancing up towards the ceiling. "Gideon! The rest of the team – can you tell us…"

"I don't believe that's necessary, Ms. Lance," replies Gideon.

 _What_ – Sara's about to protest, and judging by the looks of indignation on the other's faces, so are they, but – half a second later, a familiar sound is heard. The distant release of air pressure, along with the heavy sounds of footsteps on a metal surface – someone's boarded the ship. Multiple someones.

Everyone jumps – Sara squares her shoulders, listening intently as she stares at the doorway through which whoever _they_ are will arrive; the sound of Snart's cold gun powering up alerts her to his wariness, while Rory is no doubt preparing his gun as well; Kendra, meanwhile, steps up towards the doorway, widening her stance in a way that says she's ready to go full hawk-goddess any minute.

The footsteps get louder – there are three that she can hear, and they don't sound _not_ familiar – an instant later three familiar figures emerge onto the flight deck, their eyes lighting up at the sight that greets them. Professor Stein, Jax, and Ray. It takes them a few seconds to catch on to the tense atmosphere in the room.

Sara, Snart, Rory and Kendra immediately all release sighs of relief – the others look decidedly puzzled.

"Uh, hi?" Ray speaks up brightly, a confused frown on his face.

"Is everything all right in here?" asks Professor Stein quizzically, tilting his head at them – he glances at Snart and Rory's weapons in particular, frowning.

 _Thank god_ – Sara wishes she could feel more relieved at their safety, but there's still more to worry about. Instead she scrubs a hand over her face, shaking her head. "Not really, no."

"Why, what happened?" Ray's face is pinched in apprehension as he glances at the four of them – Sara notes how his eyes linger on Kendra, who tries to smile at him and instead gives him a tight grimace.

"It's Rip," says Kendra with a sigh. "There's something…well, we're not sure."

"What do you mean?" Rather than increased concern, the looks on all three of their faces has grown into bewilderment. Sara presses on, crossing her arms again.

"We don't know what happened, only that we found him in a fight with Savage's soldiers. We don't know how he got there – when did you get separated from him?" Sara directs her question at Professor Stein, hoping for the clearest answer, but the look on his face says otherwise.

Stein slowly shakes his head, glancing between the four of them. "What…are you talking about?" The old professor is now examining each of them dubiously, as if expecting them to add something else to the story – or maybe, to laugh and declare the whole thing a joke.

"We didn't get separated," adds Ray, squinting at them – Jax nods his agreement with a frown.

Sara and the others exchange glances loaded with growing unease, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Something definitely isn't right – this time it's Snart who steps forward, glaring at the three arrivals.

"Then which one of you decided to let Rip wander off on his own so that he could go get his memories knocked out, hmm?"

If possible, the three look even more baffled at Snart's words – Ray and Jax share a mystified glance, while Stein narrows his eyes to peer at them, shaking his head.

"Dude, what the heck are you guys talking about?" Jax asks in confusion, crossing his arms. "Rip's fine."

"Look, you obviously don't understand–" Sara starts, but Ray cuts her off, eyebrows raised in his attempt to be reassuring.

"Nothing's happened, guys. Rip's good – he's right behind us." And he waves his hand back towards the corridor he'd just emerged from – _right behind._

There's a definite sense of unease settling in Sara's stomach now, despite the look of reassurance that Ray is trying to send them all – Snart scoffs at him, rolling his eyes. "I don't think so."

But then – footsteps. The voice echoes from down the very same corridor, loud and sharp and British. "You don't think what, Mr. Snart?"

An instant later, he appears – red-brown hair, tan trench coat, narrowed eyes. No blood. No limp. Sara would fall over, except she can't because of all the training she's had – but she can almost make an exception and do it anyway. She stares, silent, but her muscles are automatically tensing; once again, the sound of Snart and Rory's guns powering up is heard in the abrupt silence.

Rip pulls himself up to a halt, stopping to stand between Ray and Professor Stein – the two glance at him easily, like it makes the most sense in the world, and Jax does the same. Sara and her side of the room simply stare.

Rip tilts his head back, eyeing the four of them in suspicion. "Oh, terrific," says their captain sarcastically, sighing. "What is it this time?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to reassure everyone who's asked, I will certainly be continuing this story, so don't worry. I think that I accidentally marked it as complete somehow, so...yeah, I did try and change that. Oh well.   
> Anyway. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed!! I really appreciate it. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update...life is busy right now. I've been asked many times if this story is going to be abandoned or what - let me assure you that it IS being continued! And won't be dumped at any point! Though I do thank you for your concern. I'm glad that you're all enjoying so far...here's the next! :)

Rory is the first to speak. He snorts dubiously, peering at Rip. "That's weird."

… _weird._

Right.

The air has turned thick, as if it's been infused with fog and confusion – Sara blinks a few times, as if that might clear it all away. Rips stands there with his suspicious frown, watching the half of his team that is currently up in arms against him. They're all suddenly on their toes, and Sara forces herself to take breaths, steady and deep, because if she didn't make herself then she probably wouldn't at all.

She finally chokes out the words, because it doesn't seem like anyone else is going to. "You're… that's not possible."

Rip's eyes only narrow further. "Ms. Lance…?"

It's like the words that they need to say have solidified somewhere in their lungs – not one of them can manage to get it out. Relaxing from the tense position that they've all taken up is not a possibility either. Sara finds herself furtively glancing back at the corridor leading towards the med bay, the lack of sense seeming to hinder her thinking process.

Snart takes an audible breath, slowly drawling out his words into the stiff silence. "Well, this has officially stepped into crazy territory," he remarks casually, but Sara can still somehow tell that it's not.

"What is going on?" asks Kendra incredulously, directing her question at what sounds like no one in particular. She doesn't get much of an answer.

Rip's still exchanging bewildered glances with Stein and Ray, who collectively stare at the rest of them as if _they're_ insane. Sara thinks the tightness that _not knowing_ is creating in her lungs and head may just kill her if it lasts any longer. Finally Rip takes a half-step forward, glancing between the four of them as if he's trying to catch them out on a lie.

He speaks up cautiously, slowly. "…What's wrong?"

Rory takes no time at all to give him a blunt answer. " _You're_ wrong," he says gruffly.

Rip's eyes swivel over to the imposing form of Rory, sharp and urgent. "Could you elaborate on that, Mr. Rory?" His tone has tightened, gaining emphasis on all of its curves and edges while having lost any warmth that it might have previously possessed.

Seconds tick by - not a lot, probably, but each one seems to multiply many times over. Kendra makes a noise, a vaguely exasperated and lost attempt to speak, but she falls silent again. Snart just slowly shakes his head.

Being the one to actually speak up suddenly seems like a daunting task, but Sara's never been one to shirk things like that. She swallows thickly, licking her dry lips. "We just left the med bay," she starts, with her eyes still locked onto the impossible form of Rip. She opens her mouth to say the rest, draws in a breath - but still pauses, because in her head it just sounds insane. It _is_ insane. Rip raises an eyebrow impatiently, and she shakes her head.

"We just left _you_ in the med bay. Bleeding, because you were shot in the stomach," says Sara. Her voice is firm, but it still holds a note of incredulity, and that feeling is mirrored by the expressions on Ray, Jax, and Stein's faces. Each of them stares at Sara like she's completely mad. The sudden increase in attention that she's getting, as if this entire thing were somehow her fault, suddenly makes her feel like she's been pinned in a corner. Sara continues with an abrupt and surprising burst of anger, frowning. "This happened about half an hour ago. All of us were there."

Stein eyes have narrowed to their limit, his stout frame emanating concern. Jax simply looks skeptically dubious, taking a step back - but he clearly believes that what Sara is saying is nonsense, as well. Ray even has the nerve to laugh, though the sound is rather thin and unsure. "Um...that's obviously not possible, right?" Ray asks uncertainly, eyes still shifting around as if he's waiting for someone to deliver a punch line. "Because...I mean, Rip's right here. He was with us the whole time." He chuckles again tentatively, but it doesn't resemble his usually-full laugh of amusement.

Rip is strangely silent.

To elaborate, Rip _is_ silent, but his expression speaks volumes; if his frown was dark before, then now it's deepened to pitch. His jaw is clearly clenched, eyebrows pinched tightly together, and he just _stands_ there. Sara finds her anger at the other half of the team fading, barely even noticing, as she observes their captain. His gaze has fallen to the floor, with his eyes strangely clouded; shoulders just hunched, arms stiff, posture obviously being held very carefully in place. So used to casing out people's appearances, Sara scrutinizes Rip effortlessly – or. It should be effortless, but it's strangely difficult.

He looks… like he wants to run.

Except that this is Rip, their supposedly fearless and nonchalant captain, except that he's not either of those things because Sara knows what fear looks like on a man and she knows what a mask to hide emotion looks like too. She's spent too much time with Oliver, too much time being _her_ , to have missed either. But as for Rip – she already knows that he's far too proud to run. Far too obsessed with achieving his goals.

Right now, Rip's entire frame is pulsing with conflict, brimming with something that Sara doesn't know – that dark, knowing look on Rip's face is enough to tell her that he knows exactly what this is all about. Exactly what she's missing. It somehow calms her that he actually _does_ have a clue what's going on – enough that she takes a breath, and starts to actually think.

Rip hasn't moved, and Stein, Ray and Jax start to look to him, clearly wanting some sort of assurance that what Sara's saying is ridiculous. Ray still has that half-smile on his face, but the slight frown that he's wearing says that he's less than entirely sure about it.

The silence stretches, and Sara's mind starts connecting dots. _Time…_ The sound of a throat being cleared breaks the silence, and Stein impatiently prompts Rip to snap out of it. "Captain Hunter? Captain –"

When Rip raises his head, the look in his eyes is sharp and clear – somehow it gives Sara a second of clarity. Just like that, an idea hits her like lightning – there's no question about it. _Them_. Sara's eyes widen as she stares, and when Rip meets her eyes vaguely for half a second, his gaze darts away just as quickly and Sara _knows_ that he's deliberately averting his eyes at that point.

But now Rip's actually moving, and Sara can't speak. He keeps his somewhat glazed eyes fixed somewhere high above them all, moving stiffly as if the air really had suddenly turned solid and unforgiving. As Rip starts for the corridor leading towards the med bay, faltering every other step, Stein makes a noise of protest.

Before anyone else can speak, Rip mumbles something quiet and incoherent. They all pause, frowning, as Rip slows, one hand on the wall, and speaks up. "Stay here," says Rip, his voice bleak and faded.

He then strides down the hall – of course, his striding involves a lot more staggering than normal. Sara and the rest collectively exchange a glance – one that says _like hell we're staying_ – and in unison, they hurry down the corridor after him.

"I _said_ , stay there!" Rip calls over his shoulder, anger and something else lingering in his voice. His words have no effect on them. They only hurry faster, urgency coloring the air.

They're only a few steps behind – a few seconds, barely a significant piece of time. But Rip reaches the med bay door first, initiating the swish of displaced air as the sliding doors part. Something seems to burn in Sara's veins – a suspicion, a hunch, but _instinct_ anyway and so it's enough – telling her to get there faster, and her heart seems to work twice as hard to pump that fire throughout her body. _Move_. Rip stands in the med bay doorway, seemingly frozen, for the duration of the endless moments that it takes for Sara and the others to reach him.

When she does get there – Sara already knows, really. Nothing should surprise her at this point, not anymore, and she'd already _guessed_ this anyway. Still. It's something of a shock, nonetheless.

Rip stares into the med bay with an unreadable expression on his face – or perhaps _too_ readable, due to the dozens of conflicting emotions that seem to be competing for dominance across it; Sara could spend much more time that necessary simply trying to dissect and interpret them. But she doesn't – instead, she looks across the room. Where the patients' beds were located, where she and the others had left a wounded and unconscious Rip Hunter not more than twenty minutes ago – was just that. The same sight they'd left remained – Rip, unconscious and laid out on the sick bed, pale and injured. No question, this time.

And to Sara's left stands Rip, conscious and aware. To be fair, he probably looks equally as pale as the other Rip does.

The others gather around, and their shock fills up the space like a million buzzing flies, loud and incessant and yet still somehow just background noise. Sara watches Rip as his eyes narrow.

When he straightens up, seemingly forcibly tear his gaze away from his double, his eyes are suddenly cold and his voice is hard. Like he's trying to separate himself from this. Like he's trying to make it disappear. His words only reinforce the thought, icy and uncaring.

"Get him off this ship."

And then he turns on heel and leaves.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long! Life has been tough, but to celebrate the new season I thought I'd finally punch out the rest of this chapter. Thank you for all the support, everyone! I hope you like it. :)

"Get him off this ship."

And then, Rip turns on heel and leaves.

Behind him remains the rest of the team, in equal parts sputtering and silent and simply confused. Stein and Ray both start to utter hushed marvels at the scientific implications of this strange phenomenon, while Kendra and Jax back away, the latter rubbing his hands over his face. Snart and Rory are silent. Surely thoughts similar to that of the rest of them are whirling about in both of their minds – they're just that much more adamant about keeping those thoughts hidden.

Sara swallows her apprehension, taking a final look at the unconscious version of their captain, and leaves them all to it. The most important thing to address here has already stomped off down the corridor, and she's never been one to leave things in the middle.

Sara takes off down the hall at a jog, her boots practically silent on the floor. The sound of Rip's own footsteps drift toward her from up ahead, and she quickens her pace. "Rip!" Her voice bounces off the metal walls, seeming to make no advancement in the direction she wants it to go.

He doesn't call back to her. She didn't expect that he would.

Her racing heart seems to cast the speed at which she runs in a pale and sickly light. When she rounds the corner to stumble into the flight deck, she just catches sight of Rip's scuffed coattail, fluttering and then gone. Rip's 'office' is always his first refuge.

" _Rip_ ," demands Sara, her voice flat and unrelenting. Again, there's no reply.

She comes to a halt in the doorway of Rip's study, finding her deluge of forward motion suddenly cut off at the knees. Rip is sitting on the edge of his desk with his back to her, facing the opposite wall. His hands are visible, clenched tight against the old and scratched wooden surface.

He takes a long moment to address her, and when he does his voice is tense and raw. "Ms. Lance," says Rip in a tone coiled so tight that the quiver of his words goes practically unnoticed. "In case you haven't noticed, the issue at hand is a rather _important_ one, so –"

"So why are you running away?" Sara interrupts him. The silence that follows says that her hasty action may have been unwise.

A long moment later, she can practically hear Rip gritting his teeth. "You don't understand." He grinds the words out, each one stiff and brittle.

Sara's heart is still pounding as it was when she was running, and she finds her palms cool with a faint sheen of sweat. It's her familiar stubborn anger that wards those observations away, urging her to speak – the words dangling from the tip of her tongue seem like they _could_ be the wrong thing to say. For the most part, though, they just feel more right than not. "I think I do."

She doesn't know why she's pressing him. Doesn't really know why she's there. It could be that her involvement with unconscious-Rip's getting shot is now making her feel obliged, or it could be that seeing the fear on this Rip's face was enough. It doesn't really matter. She's learned to trust her instincts, and she acts on them frequently. If her instincts can manage to get her _into_ a situation, then they can surely manage to get her _out_ of one, too.

Or maybe all of that's simply bullshit. Whatever the reason, she finds herself taking a deep and steadying breath. In response to her insistence, Rip merely scoffs scathingly and shakes his head. Denying, as usual, the fact that anyone else might actually be able to grasp the gravity of a situation that he deemed 'complicated'. Sara stared into his back, hard.

"I wasn't sure at first," she says eventually, keeping her voice neutral. "But… he's not just some doppelganger or weird imposter or anything, is he? That's _you_. From the past."

Rip doesn't move, makes no acknowledgement of having heard Sara's words. She advances, taking a few steps closer to his cluttered desk. It's crowded with maps, records, timelines and countless other things all tying back to Savage and how to stop him from doing everything he's done. For instance, killing – hundreds of thousands if not millions of people, endless mothers and sons. Like _them_.

"Not just any past, either. This particular time and place isn't just any other." She crosses her arms, watching carefully, and doesn't miss how he seems to stiffen, anticipating her words. "This is about them…your family. Isn't it?"

The silence that Sara gets in response is charged, heavy and ready to snap. Rip takes a deep, controlled breath before shoving himself off the desk.

"What do you want me to _say_ , Sara?"

Half of the papers scattered across the desk lift off and flutter angrily in the wake of the energy with which Rip turns to face Sara. It's a shock, and _he's_ a shock; yes, she'd been pushing him and it had been a perfectly deliberate action, but maybe she simply wasn't ready for the depths of complexity that range across his face, in his eyes.

"What? _Yes_ , that is actually a past version of myself, and _no_ , this isn't just any time and place. You've got it quite right, haven't you," Rip snaps, gaze darting everywhere and still nowhere, all at once. He can't seem to stop moving, turning in place but not exactly pacing, and his hands never cease wringing the air. "… _yes_ , it's about them. It's always about them…"

He mutters the last few words, trailing off as his eyes seem to turn glassy once more. Sara finds that any words she might have had to say have been effectively dissolved. She just gaps at Rip, lost for words, as he rakes his hands through his hair in what seems to be an attempt to shake loose whatever thoughts are possessing him. It must have worked, at least in part, because when Rip looks back at her, his eyes have regained a touch of their usual strength.

"But _that_ , I'm afraid, is where your understanding stops, and it's thoroughly for the best that we leave it there. So please," says Rip sharply, conveying through his tone that he wants nothing more than for this conversation to end. The dismissive overlay to his words has returned, but it seems more forced than before. " _Please_ , Sara, just go back to the others and let me be. There's nothing you can do."

With that, Rip lets his head fall back on his shoulders and lifts his gaze to the ceiling with a sigh, obviously thinking the discussion to be over. It's not – the appeal-to-sympathy part of Rip's speech didn't really do it for her, and now Sara narrows her eyes at him in response to the more offending bits. Luckily for her, any loss for words that she experiences usually goes away pretty quickly. Now is one of those times.

"Okay, look – I get it. I get that this is a pretty difficult time for you," replies Sara, crossing her arms stubbornly. Rip smiles sardonically at her choice of words, but she can't find it within herself to balk at the moment. _Difficult_. Sara presses on, frowning. "I _understand_ that, despite my never having been in _any sort_ of similarly difficult situation at all, myself. But look, you can't just throw a tantrum and act ridiculous just because you're having a bad day. There's too much at stake here for that."

Rip looks positively affronted at her words. " _Excuse_ me?" He asks, raising his eyebrows incredulously. "To what _exactly_ do you think you're referring to?"

She lets out a huff of exasperated breath. "Really? Did you or did you not just tell us to throw your _injured past self_ off the ship? Because it sort of sounded like you did."

Rip grimaces as if Sara's words have left a bad taste in his mouth. There's a pause, short and heavy, as he ducks his head, chewing on his words. "Again," he eventually says, tension resounding from every syllable. "You overestimate your understanding of the situation, and I'm not in much of an explaining mood. Now, if you wouldn't mind –"

"Yes, I would!" Sara cuts him off, raising her voice. She can't _not_ see him getting more agitated the more she presses the subject, and she's glad for it. At least she has a direction to aim for, now. "What'd you mean – overestimate my understanding? The only thing that needs to be understood is that you seem to want to _abandon_ your literal past self, despite the fact that he recently came close to bleeding out – oh, and don't forget the fact that he also happens to be suffering from 'exhaustion and malnutrition'." She points a finger at Rip sharply, emphasizing her mixing of pronouns. Time travel sure gets confusing sometimes.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that just about sums up the situation. Maybe now, you can see why I'm concerned."

She crosses her arms and waits for Rip to face her again. He just stands, though, slowly running a hand over his face. He takes an almost shaky sigh, gradually breathes out.

"Look," he says eventually, and when he meets Sara's eye, she nearly flinches. His voice has lost its fight, just sounding tired. "I – I just…" He can't even say that. Rip looks away again, pinching the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh.

The prospect of arguing with Rip has suddenly dropped to zero in appeal. Sara lets her arms slide free of their stubborn cross, releasing a huff of breath. Still, she maintains the hard stare that she's been treating him with, even though it's almost painful not to.

Rip glances back again when she speaks – it's her commanding tone that doesn't allow for anyone to look away. Though she may be willing to admit temporary defeat in this particular conflict, Sara certainly isn't giving up. Her words are flat and unyielding, completely incompatible with the sympathy that finds its way onto her face.

"I know what you're doing," she says. "And I'm not going to let you."

Before he can reply, she turns and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry...I know it's really short. There was more but I thought I'd tack the rest onto the next chapter for the sake of neatness. Also, a few of your reviews commented on the quality of the endings and I'd like to keep up to standards. Also, speaking of the next chapter - it's coming soon! Sooner than you'd expect! I promise! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say the update was on the horizon...I didn't say that it was close enough to smack you in the face, but hey, I sort of doubt I'll be hearing any complaints. Thanks for all the reviews and support, everyone! If anyone is going mad over the season premiere, feel free to read my rant in the end comment...

She walks away briskly, at first – if it's just for the sake of keeping up appearances, there's no one to call her out on it. As soon as she turns the corner to escape the flight deck, Sara lets her shoulders slump down and drops her pace to a crawl.

Pretending that the situation doesn't really faze her is doable. She can easily come up with anger instead, indignation on someone else's part. Definitely plausible – but, not something that she's capable of doing indefinitely. It's not like she'd want to.

There are several storage rooms scattered about the Waverider, filled with nothing more than dust and huge metal drums of some unknown substances that she doesn't care to discover the identity of. Tracking down one of such rooms, Sara chooses the drum with the smallest amount of dust marring its surface and sits, drawing her knees up to her chin. If anyone comes along, she'll hear their footsteps against the metal flooring and have plenty of time to remedy her appearance.

In the meantime, she takes a long breath and releases it all in a heavy sigh.

Sara doesn't bluff, not really, and especially not when it matters. She certainly wasn't bluffing during her conversation with Rip, not for a second and not even a little. Not everyone would agree with her strong-arm method of getting a stubborn captain to agree with her, but she already knows where the problem lies and it's not with her own argument. For Rip, the problem lies with _himself_ and in this situation, the term is doubly confusing.

She _does_ know what he's doing. That wasn't a bluff. Whether or not she actually does stop him has yet to be seen.

The problem for her is that this is quickly becoming a personal issue. Of course, wanting to help Rip is the larger part of it, but she's only human. Managing to find relatable aspects in everything is a human curse that she's not immune to. Regret and resentment towards one's own weakness – regret for something that should have been, but _wasn't_ , done – certainly isn't foreign to her. Even less foreign is the desire to run in the face of something so terrifying as one's own unchangeable past.

So she sits for a while and thinks, and wonders why things always go wrong. No one comes to call, and she's more glad for it than not – and just a few steps away, she's sure that Rip is thinking something similar.

* * *

Flat, solid footsteps wind their way back towards the med bay, turning one particular corner to find the rest of the team looking more than a little uprooted. They've all gathered out in the corridor leading up to the med bay, but not adjacent to it. Apparently someone thought it would be a good idea to get a little space.

They all look up as Sara approaches, varying degrees of curiosity and hope coloring their expressions. She meets their inquisitive eyes with utter nonchalance, dragging her feet over to the wall and slumping against it. "What?" asks Sara flatly, cocking an eyebrow. Needless to say, she's not feeling very charitable at the moment.

They don't seem to be in much of a mood for dealing with her – a quiet, collective sigh of exasperation is released. Ray's the one to take the leap. "What did Rip say?" His eyebrows are halfway up his forehead, yearning to join with the rest of his 'annoying hair', as Rory would put it.

Sara blows a sigh through pursed lips, lifting her gaze to the ceiling. "Nothing," she says, drawing out the word. "What did you expect?"

Most of them do look disappointed, though Snart just shakes his head knowingly and Rory doesn't react much at all. Ray and Stein look particularly crestfallen. "I mean...you did go to try and talk to him, didn't you?" Ray asks, frowning.

Sara rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I tried. Would you like to give it a shot?"

His expression sours. "I, uh, think I'll pass."

"So, it looks like the good captain is reverting back to his old secretive ways," drawls Snart from where he's leaning carelessly against a wall. He tilts his head to meet Sara's eye, putting on a bright and perfectly sarcastic smile. "Hurray."

"Aw, man, not again with the whole keeping us in the dark thing," exclaims Jax, crossing his arms and looking particularly put out. "Just great."

"Well, it's not exactly surprising at this point, is it?" Kendra stands beside Ray with her arms wrapped tight around her frame.

There's certainly no argument to that. They sit in disheartened silence for a moment, listening to the nothing but the familiar sound of the Waverider quietly shifting and whirring around them.

"…I suppose he didn't comment on what he said earlier, either?" Professor Stein voices the vague question, but Sara knows exactly what he's referring to. She's pretty sure everyone does.

"Well, he definitely didn't take it back, if that's what you mean," replies Sara bluntly. Stein looks more intrigued than annoyed at Sara's tone, so for once she actually has the old man's relentless love for all things even half intriguing to thank for something. Not that anything about the current situation is really that intriguing.

"It doesn't make sense," mutters Stein, brow furrowed in thought. "I can't believe Rip would be so stubborn as to actually put the life of his own past self at risk. It seems a tad counterproductive, don't you think?"

Snart drops his head against the wall, scoffing quietly. "Seems like Rip isn't all that fond of his past self," he says, eyes glinting. "How shocking."

"He can join the club," says Rory, his tone no less of a growl than ever. It barely earns him a glance – Rory's weirdness has sort of become something that everyone simply endures, now. The choice phrase just so happens to be one that has everything it needs to get under Sara's skin at the moment, though, so she pushes off from her chosen patch of wall and finds something to say.

"It's not all that much of a mystery, you know," she says, directing her words at Stein before looking around to address the rest as well. "Why he's being like this…it's not that hard to figure out."

She sort of expected bemused looks coupled with skeptical demands for explanation. Instead, Ray speaks up immediately after her. "No, it's not," he says, looking around at them all. The soulful frown is back, once again commandeering his practically audible eyebrows. "Back at the rebel camp, Rip told me something…sort of on the depressing side. I'm pretty sure it's related to this."

Now Ray's the one getting demands for explanation, though they're less skeptical that Sara had anticipated. But, she can't say that she herself isn't interested this time. "What did he say?"

Ray's frown deepens as he hesitates, taking a breath. "Well, it started out…I guess I was sort of prying. I asked him about his family and why he wasn't trying to go and rescue them, since they should be alive and well right now, so if he just went and grabbed them then they'd be out of Savage's way and everything would be fine, right?" He sends a glance around as if seeking out confirmation of the validity of his theory, and receives several impatient nods in return.

"Right, so… turns out, Rip _had_ thought of that, and he did try to save his family before they were killed. Several times, in fact. Unfortunately, it never actually worked." Ray's forehead pinches in on itself, and his tone teeters between saddened and queasy. "He went back to try and save them, but they were always killed anyway. No matter what he tried. Apparently this went on for, uh, a while."

Ray's expression is reflected back at him in several variations, some muted and some magnified. Despite having suspected, even Sara can't keep a dismayed frown off her face. Ray sighs with a grimace, continuing. "He told me that he watched his family die countless times," says Ray slowly. "But… time wants to happen. And I guess time really wants Rip's wife and child to stay dead."

Kendra breaks the uncomfortable silence before it's even begun. "That's awful," she says quietly, empathetic as ever. Ray nods slowly, reaching out to grab her hand.

Snart's interpretation isn't quite as feeling, but it is a bit more substantive. "…How many times has Rip told us _not_ to mess with the timeline because of all the terrible and deadly consequences?"

"To be fair, it _did_ end with terrible and deadly consequences," says Stein solemnly.

"Sure, but I'm still thinking the term 'hypocrite' wouldn't be out of place here."

Sara seems to have acquired a squirming pit of unease in the depths of her gut, despite having more or less known already. Having her suspicions confirmed never feels good, and now is absolutely no exception. What makes it worse is that this new nugget of knowledge basically cements her idea of why Rip's being so unreasonable about this whole thing. Again, not a great feeling.

"Okay, hold up," says Jax abruptly, interrupting Snart and Stein's disagreement. "Lemme see if I got this straight. You think that because Rip tried to save his family so many times and never could, and because this time and place is basically when all of that happened–"

"–the Rip that's currently in the med bay is _that_ Rip, yes," finishes Ray, nodding. "He was in the middle of one of his attempts to save his family when you guys found him." He nods at Kendra, implying the rest that were there.

"And all that explains why _our_ Rip is currently hiding out in his study," says Sara, brushing her hair out of her face with a grimace. "…on one hand, I'm not really sure that I can blame him." She pauses, frowning, and Rory turns out to be the least patient this time.

"And on the other?"

Sara sighs shortly, crossing her arms. "He needs to stop."

Not just the hiding. Rip has several flaws, and he's sometimes forthcoming about them too. But Rip's problems with trusting his team and facing his past are lesser concerns, at the moment. The _main_ concern has higher stakes and no clear solution in sight.

He needs to stop punishing himself. In this situation, it's quite literal.

Ray's talking again, his voice seemingly undecided on whether it wanted to be sympathetic or condemning. "–this has got to be a pretty intense time for him, but I'm pretty sure that ignoring an issue like this and hiding from your friends is never a good–"

The sound comes quick and fades just as fast, and Sara finds herself immediately on high alert. She cuts Ray off mid-sentence, straightening and going practically rigid. "Shh!"

Ray frowns quizzically at her, looking half concerned and half offended. "What?"

Snart never misses an opportunity to take a jab at Ray, and now is no exception. "She's not the only one that was getting sick of you playing psychologist–"

"Shut up!" Sara snaps in a hushed tone, frowning down the corridor. A beat of silence passes. Nothing – but that means nothing, itself.

Her continued silence and lack of explanation isn't endured by the others for very long. " _Sara_?" Kendra presses, urgency coloring her voice and expression.

Sara's eyes flick over to meet Kendra's for a second as she squares her shoulders. "The door to the med bay just opened."

_Whoosh_. The sound replays in her mind, perfectly clear.

The blank expressions of the rest of the team don't last long. They're all on the move a second later, striding down the hall towards the med bay in a flurry of panic. Sara leads the way – only one person could possibly have opened that door, and at the moment there are two instances of him on board. She doesn't know which possibility is better.

The window looking in on the med bay says it all, but Sara swipes her hand over the door lock and takes a few steps into the room anyway. Someone gasps in shock behind her, amidst all the worried mutters and hurried footfalls. By the time everyone has caught up, she's more than certain that it's empty.

_Shit._

"…Um, did injured Rip just escape…?" Ray voices the question. The hesitance is completely unnecessary.

Sara releases a breath that she didn't know she'd been holding. "That, or our Rip took him." _Get him off this ship_. The words ring through her mind again. "We need to find him."

Two scenarios, both in which injured Rip is put in danger of dying once more. If that Rip dies, then _their_ Rip will die.

"But how will we know–" Jax starts to ask, but Rory's rough voice cuts him off, coming from a few feet behind them.

"Pretty sure it's the first one," he says decisively. Something in his tone makes Sara turn.

Rory is standing in the doorway to the med bay, but he's looking back the way they'd come. In the corridor is the spectacle that's gotten his attention. Sara had been so focused on getting here that she hadn't really been keeping track of the rest of the team. She hadn't noticed that Kendra never joined them in the med bay, had just assumed that she was with them.

In the corridor outside, Rip and Kendra stand. _One_ of the Rips, and Kendra.

Kendra's lips are pressed together in tight discomfort and an uncertain kind of fear. Rip's eyes are cold and apathetic, and he holds a knife to her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh heh...yeah, cliff hanger. Again. I really just can't resist. 
> 
> Now, about the season premiere: normally I'd be like 'beware of spoilers' but honestly I just can't even. RIP IS NOT DEAD, DAMN IT. I don't believe it. There is no way they'd kill him off (well actually there probably is), he's too central of a character (though apparently they thought they could do without other central characters like a certain Captain Cold), and just...just...no. Those arguments are, thanks to DC's history, intolerably weak, but I do have one great one: in TV shows - and yes, also in DC shows - characters as important as Rip never go out without a fuss. They always die with a big, dramatic moment, and you can pretty much always tell when it's only fake-dramatic and they're actually alive and ready to pop back again in later seasons. Rip did not 'die' with anywhere near enough of a bang, pun intended, and he's certainty not dead. We will be seeing him again. I will stand by this opinion.
> 
> But until then, I'll probably end up writing several million more Rip stories to pass the time...
> 
> One other thing! DRAW YOUR EYES HERE, RIP HUNTER FANS. I have noticed that a lot of you in the comments are sort of dying for more Rip angst and insight on that... and so, I thought I'd mention that I actually happen to have written a short fic concerning just that...it's called His Failsafe, and I think I'm actually going to make it a companion to this one. But, feel free to check it out - I think you'd enjoy it.   
> Til next time!


	7. Chapter 7

 

**Chapter 7**

"Rip, put down the knife."

Sara says the words slowly, and her voice doesn't tremble. It never does, in these situations. She sometimes wonders if that's a bad thing, but she knows she'd wonder more if it did.

Rip – other Rip, supposedly wounded and unconscious Rip – doesn't oblige. His eyes don't show any sign of remorse, and Sara thinks that this is going to be tough.

Kendra, meanwhile, doesn't seem to know what to think. Her expression morphs swiftly between angry, panicked, and concerned – she tries to pull away from Rip, once, and he presses the edge of the knife a little harder against her throat. Sara can tell the exact instant that the knife breaks her skin, the second that she winces and stops straining. A thin trail of dark redness makes its way down her skin, and Ray fumes.

"Rip, please." Sara says it again, and she deliberately lets some of her own panic, buried deep down, show through. "We're trying to help you. You don't need to do this."

Kendra takes slow, deep breaths through pursed lips, and this strange version of Rip narrows his eyes at Sara.

"You think you know me, don't you."

He says the words slowly, and his voice cracks more than once; he doesn't seem to notice. What _they_ notice, however, is everything – everything about what this Rip has just uttered. The condescending tone of voice, the British lilt. It's so _Rip_ , but so very _not_.

He must see some of that in their eyes, because he tilts his head at them scathingly. So cold, so uncaring. Their Rip certainly isn't without his rough spots – Sara knows this better than most. She can see it. But _this_ – it's different. A whole new level. Completely foreign.

"You think you know who I am, don't you; well sorry to break it to you, but you _don't_." Rip spits the words at them, and his scowl of distrust is knowingly unconcealed. "You lot may know some future version of me – some _idiot_ who decided to recruit a _team_ – but you see, he and I are not the same person, not anymore. _I_ would never let things go so far as this. _I_ don't intend to."

He's getting more and more agitated, and by the looks of it, the knife that he's holding on Kendra's throat is getting held a little more firmly. Sara raises her hands into the air, a show of peace that probably won't do any good at all. "Stop! Stop. You don't need to do this. We're trying to _help_ you." Her voice is imploring, and she gets the feeling that Rip doesn't care. He doesn't care, not about them, not about anything at the moment.

Rip lifts his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, and his lips curve into a derisive, slightly manic smile. "Right, so you keep saying," he says, clearly not believing it for a second. "You don't even know what I'm after."

Except that they do – Sara's almost completely certain that the only thing this Rip wants is to save his family. That's his one mission. However, something tells her that it might not be a great idea to mention that at the moment – of course, even as the thought crosses her mind, Stein decides to speak up.

"Captain Hunter, we know what you're trying to do," says Stein slowly, his words firm like he's trying to cement some fact into the minds of his students at a lecture. Sara knows that he must be wearing that earnest, knowledgeable look, but she's watching Rip. Stein's words aren't calming him down. "We're trying to do the same thing – stop Savage and save your family, your Mira–"

" _Don't say their names_!" Rip explodes, shouting the words. Kendra flinches violently, and the knife juts a little further into her skin. "Don't you _bloody_ say their names. Don't you dare." He's fuming, furious, and Sara takes a step back.

 _Stop. Just stop it. Before he goes too far_.

She's an assassin, not a damn psychiatrist. Talking people down from metaphorical ledges has never been her strong point.

It seems like Rip's already pushing it. The familiar sound of Snart powering up his cold gun fills the air, and his slow and calculated voice follows. "Okay, Rip, if you don't our help with whatever it is you think you're doing, then fine. How about this?" Standing a few feet behind Sara, Snart levels the gun at Rip and Kendra. "You hurt Kendra, you're dead."

Rip scoffs at Snart, shaking his head. "If you kill me, then your own captain will also die. Hasn't he taught you anything about time travel?"

Snart smirks. "Oh, he has. The problem is, Kendra is part of the team, and I'm talking about the _actual_ team. Captain Hunter, meanwhile, is just a pathological liar who can't seem to remember the first thing about being on a team. So yeah. You hurt Kendra, I pull this trigger. It won't be pleasant."

Rory's growl adds to the conversation, and he cocks up his gun as well. "If he pulls the trigger, so do I. I'll take any excuse."

Sara can feel their tension, and she can feel the glance that Stein and Jax exchange; beside her, Ray slips a hand into his pocket where she knows he keeps his miniaturized suit. All of them getting ready for what might be a fight, what might be a disaster. Sara hopes that they're bluffing, or at least that they _think_ they are; she knows that if it comes down to it, they'll probably make the first move. To be honest, if it _does_ come down to it, Sara can't really say that she won't fight, either. _Not good_.

Rip glares at them all, tightening the arm that is braced around Kendra's frame. "Right. Of course, so long as your dear _Kendra_ is right here, safe and sound…" He raises an eyebrow, eyes sharp.

"Then what's the point?" Ray speaks up, frowning quizzically. He spreads his hands in emphasis, gesturing widely. "You don't need to use Kendra as leverage if all you're trying to do is get off the ship. We're not keeping you here. Please, feel free to walk out."

Rip scoffs again, and his disdain for them seems to emanate in waves. "Oh, but I'm don't want to get off the ship." He shifts back a step, pulling Kendra with him. It's that backward motion that draws Sara's gaze to the corridor behind them, and her shifted attention doesn't escape Rip. He freezes, just in time.

"He wants me."

The words echo through the entire space, and other-Rip's expression darkens. Other-Rip is the one holding Kendra, because _their_ Rip is the one standing behind the pair in the corridor. He aims his revolver-shaped laser gun at other-Rip's back, and he wears an angry scowl.

Not an uncaring scowl, this time. A scowl that's nothing if not caring, that's solely for someone else's benefit. Rip's eyes dart up to meet Sara's for a fraction of a second, and she almost breathes a sigh of relief that his gaze isn't so dark, so distant as other-Rip's is.

 _Their_ Rip strides another step forward, his grip tight on his revolver. "Now, _let her go_!"

What happens next occurs in the blink of an eye, and yet – somehow, at the same time, agonizingly slowly.

Other-Rip spins around, shoving Kendra away from him and straight at their Rip.

Rip catches her, lowering his revolver to do it – his gun hangs loosely from his hand, pointed at the floor.

An instant later – other-Rip draws back a hand and strikes forward again. With a flash of light, the knife darts through the air and slices across the top of Rip's right hand.

Rip flinches back, and his grip goes slack – the revolver spirals away, against the wall and back again to where it falls, precisely at other-Rip's feet.

And just like that, other-Rip uses his booted foot to flip the revolver up into the air, where he catches it – barely, but he does.

When everything stops moving, everyone seems to hold their breath – Sara knows that she is. _What?_ From behind, Jax mutters a low "woah" and Rory emits a slow, quiet whistle. Other-Rip raises the gun and aims it at Rip and Kendra – Sara watches as his thumb shifts the setting away from 'stun'.

Snart takes a gradual step forward, standing level with Sara – she turns her head slightly, meeting his eye to see his resolve. His gun is still aimed at other-Rip, and this time he really isn't bluffing. If past-Rip tries anything, Snart really will shoot. _And that'll mean death for our Rip_.

Other-Rip slowly makes his way around Rip and Kendra, motioning with the revolver for them to move back towards Sara and the others. Rip doesn't hesitate to oblige, pulling Kendra along with him – she stumbles and straightens again, clutching at her bleeding throat, and by the looks of it she's not entirely comfortable being in Rip's grasp. When other-Rip and the pair have made a complete 180-degree switch in position, Rip pauses with his good hand tight on Kendra's shoulder. His right hand steadily drips blood to the floor.

Rip gives his younger counterpart a wary glance before turning to face Kendra, stooping slightly so that his face is level with hers. "Kendra, I am _so sorry_ for what's happened," says Rip fervently, and his eyes spell out that it's the truth. He presses every syllable out, warm and British and caring and completely unlike the voice of other-Rip. The difference is striking, an absolute contrast despite the similarities. _How are they even the same person?_ Sara wonders, the thought flitting up and vanishing again.

Kendra blinks and nods slightly, pressing her hand tighter against her red throat. "I'm okay."

Rip nods back at her before straightening and gently pushing Kendra towards Ray, standing by and all too eager to receive her. Their exchange of quiet murmurs goes unnoticed by the rest of the room and the continued electricity that seems to be arcing through it.

Rip turns back towards past-Rip again – the movement is slow, decisive. The other man is still scowling with eyes that are somehow flatly dismissive and hating – it boggles Sara's mind, partially at least, because there's still a quiet part inside her that knows exactly why. _Not yet_. Rip inclines his head and spreads his arms out like a taunt, flinging large drops of blood in the process, and other-Rip raises an eyebrow.

"Well, go on then," says Rip, taking a step forward. "What _exactly_ is it that you're so eager to say? It's not like it hasn't already crossed my mind."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review! Comments breed updates. They literally do. Like, seriously, I was just moseying around on AO3 and happened to see a comment that someone left on here (thanks, Sam!) and then I was just compelled to, like, sit down and start typing…and write this…all at once. Over the course of, like, a few hours. It was a very surreal experience. But anyway. Comments save lives, guys. Tell me what you think!
> 
> Oh and also, someone asked in the comments, where did Rip get the knife? Well, I just assume that in that time of Rip's life, he probably had no less than six and a half weapons on him at all times anyway, so it's not too much of a stretch to assume that the knife was in his boot or something. Rip Hunter was already a (slightly dorky) badass to begin with; desperation to save M&J has turned him into a ninja. With anger issues.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovely readers! Sorry it's been so long, but finals are approaching and I've been bogged down with homework and studying and tests and all that college stuff. Calculus, chemistry, logic, and government, all ready to tackle me next week – but anyway. I kept on seeing your wonderful comments and sort of had to just sit down and write this – speaking of. Comments! Thank you all so very much, you awesome people. =D I'm really glad that you're all enjoying this.

At first, there's silence as the two stare each other down. Two Rips, face to face; it's like a strange mirror effect. Except, one is holding a gun, and the other is dripping blood.

Near silence. Sara and the rest are like mice – even Ray and Kendra have managed to stop murmuring to one another. Sara can't see Rip's face – _their_ Rip's face – but she can easily imagine that his expression is pained and pensive, 'unreadable' to most. In this situation, maybe she's one of the 'most', too. The fingers on his left hand tic slightly, barely.

Meanwhile, _other_ Rip fumes.

He can't seem to hold still. Sara has of course noticed the habit that occasionally overcomes their Captain; whenever he's thinking, formulating a plan or coming up with an idea, he can't stop _moving_ – he paces, rubs his hands together, just _moves_. Apparently, the younger Rip is even worse at containing it. There he stands, leveling the revolver at their Rip. His finger twitches on the trigger. He never stops shifting his weight, working his jaw, shaking his head fractionally.

 _Their_ Rip, in contrast, is strangely still. Sara isn't sure which sight is more chilling, and she doesn't really know where to look. When the silence finally breaks, and other-Rip's voice cuts into the air – sharp, cold, distasteful – her eyes snap back to the speaker, the Rip with the gun.

"I don't think I'd believe it if I didn't see it for myself," says other-Rip slowly, disdain dripping off every syllable. "That I could ever become you."

Sara watches, her breath pressed against the walls of her ribs – behind her, the rest of the team sound like they're doing the exact same. Waiting. There's a long pause, and then Rip scoffs lightly and gives a slight shrug.

"Well," he says shortly – it feels as if the word were forced out into the air, and would much rather have not been heard at all. Rip continues with an attempted lilt to his words, as if the idea of lightening the mood had occurred to him for about a tenth of a second. "Terribly sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, I'm not," says other-Rip with a dry, derisive half-laugh. "Not in the least. You see, I don't intend to let myself turn into… _this_." He spits out the last few words, adjusting his already-tight grip on the revolver. "I'm not going to turn into you."

Rip takes a short breath, releasing it in a tense puff. "No?" He asks quietly, and something seems to boil beneath his sharp tone of voice. "You've got a clever plan on how to change things, have you? To do things differently?"

Other-Rip's eyes narrow, and he shifts his weight restlessly, edging closer. "If it's different from what you've done, it's bound to be an improvement." His eyes shift for a moment, roving over to where Sara and the others are standing – she jumps ever-so-slightly when his eyes meet hers, and she's greeted with a glare of ice. "Or should I say, what you've _not_ done."

Rip laughs this time, and it sounds just a little too much like the other one. "Oh, like you've done any better?" Incredulity floods his voice – that, and anger. He balls his hands into fists, still dripping red. "Do you _really_ think that I haven't tried _everything_ that you haven't even thought of yet? That I'm not _still_ doing that?"

Other-Rip scowls furiously, looking almost feral, and Sara wishes that she could take a step away. Even if for just a second – this conversation feels like something that she shouldn't be hearing. There isn't much more time for thinking that, though – other-Rip takes a ragged step forward, his motion jerky. A word pops into Sara's mind – _injured_ – she continues to watch the exchange with sharp, wary eyes.

Other-Rip stretches his arm out farther, pointing the revolver directly at Rip's chest. "I don't care what you're _trying_ to do," grinds out other-Rip, gritting his teeth. "Because that's just it – you're still trying. _Still_. After all this time." His face screws up in fury, no longer suppressed, and his words just get icier. "You should have _saved_ them by now."

Rip freezes for a long moment, and his jaw twitches. "I'm _going_ to save them," says Rip angrily – his words are just a little rushed, though, slightly less sharp. "I – _this_ is how I'm going to save them. Not _your_ way – not that way, not anymore."

Other-Rip sneers. "This is how you're going to save them?" He casts a bitter glance around again, eyes lingering for a split-second on the team. " _This_? What – with your little team that you've strung together? Your _crew_? Or is it more like a happy new _family_ for you?"

His eyes seem crazed, and his hand – the one holding the gun – is trembling, the grip is so tight. His lip curls in something like repulsion. At the same time, _their_ Rip – Sara's eyes snap back to their Captain when he releases a heavy breath, shaking his head tersely.

" _Don't_ ," Rip bites out after a pause. His voice is shaking, furious, and the air is electric. "You have _no_ idea – and you're no different – _don't_ _pretend_ that you know any better. There's _nothing_ you could say that I haven't already said to myself. Nothing you could do that I haven't done. So don't – don't–"

Rip cuts himself off brusquely, seeming to force back his words – he clenches his jaw, shifts on his feet, continues shaking his head ever so slightly. The knuckles of his left hand are white. Those of his right would probably look something similar, if it weren't for all the blood.

Other-Rip wears a tiny, twisted smile on his face. "You're pathetic," he says, nearly a hiss. "And you're wrong. There is most definitely something I can do, that you haven't done."

There's a moment in which Sara wonders if she should worry even more – then, Other-Rip lifts the gun higher, pointing it directly at Rip's head. His arm is stiff and taunt, stretched out to the limit – as if he yearned to pull the trigger.

"I could kill you." The cold tone of his voice says that he means it – his eyes cement it.

The corridor seems to spiral into silence, again; Sara stares between the two Rips in shock, but she has enough presence of mind to lift a hand, holding back the others who seem to want to charge forward. Even Snart, standing beside her, is frowning in undisguised concern. Sara just stares, and wonders if she should've known it was this bad – wonders if knowing could have possibly helped. It doesn't matter, either way – she's trapped, pinned to the wall, powerless. A single wrong move, right now, could cost them their captain.

Rip – their Rip, familiar and somehow a stranger too – just stands there. For a long moment, Sara watches and wonders – she wonders if he'll agree, and the thought sends a spike of panic bolting through her.

And then, of course, he does.

"You certainly could do that," says Rip in a falsely easy voice – the tension hasn't gone away, and neither has the anger. Some of the fight, though – some of that has slipped away. "And you'd gain nothing, except for the knowledge that Miranda and Jonas will certainly never be saved."

"Not if I change things," replies other-Rip fiercely. There's a more than dangerous light in his eye – more than wrong. "If you tell me everything that you've tried, right now – if you tell me every detail, every move you've made, then – I'll do things differently. If I know what not to do, then I can save them."

He was almost earnest, for a second – Sara heard a hint of the passion that their Rip so often displayed, if only for a moment. It's fleeting, though, and it's swiftly buried by everything else that _shouldn't_ be there. Anger, hatred, resentment and coldness. Other-Rip's scowl remains, and he jostles his grip on the revolver in agitation.

Rip sputters silently for a moment, spreading his arms in a slight display of incredulity. "You have _no_ guarantee that that'll work," retorts Rip – his words are mostly irritated, and just a little desperate. "Time _wants_ to happen, you've seen that by now–"

Other-Rip shakes his head tersely, scowling all the more. "No," he snaps. "This isn't set in stone – or do you believe differently, these days?" He glares in barely contained fury, and then it's _not_ contained – he continues explosively, frantic anger laced into every word.

"Don't you see? Everything that I do from here on out are my _own_ actions – we've crossed timelines, and now I know things that you didn't, when you were me. I can do things differently, and I _will_ – I'm not going to let it go to waste, not like you did – then this'll never have happened, not this team or _anything_ –"

Rip cuts him off furiously, slicing his left hand through the air in emphasize. "Does the word 'paradox' mean _nothing_ to you? The timeline, you can't just ignore it –"

Other-Rip's replying yell seems to shake the walls. Sara jumps slightly as it reverberates through her, heart racing, and she somehow clams down on the urge to leap forward, to do something.

" _I don't care about the timeline_!" Other-Rip thunders, taking a few manic, impulsive steps forward – Sara finds herself tensing, teetering on the edge of action. She slowly continues to breathe when he stops. "I don't _care_ about the Time Masters, or paradoxes, or any of it! So what? If my actions erase you and all that you've done – what does it matter? If I can save them?"

Rip doesn't hesitate in his response, but his voice shakes. "And if you can't?" Rip demands, not quite righteous – almost like he's egging his younger self on. "Is this what Miranda would have wanted?"

Sara sees the exact moment that things snap – other-Rip is suddenly rushing forward, a flurry of anger and movement, and the revolver in his hand is pressing closer and closer to Rip's skull. " _Don't_ you _dare_ – you'd know _exactly_ what she'd have wanted, if you'd only done what needed to be done and _saved_ them–" He slams Rip against the wall, shoving the gun against his temple – his scowl is terrible and not in the least bit bluffing, and Sara's finally leaping forward, shouting something she doesn't hear, falling into movement even though her heart is pounding in her head and she's never going to make it in time –

But there's a quick flash of light that she misses, and a tiny something that passes her by in a blur – in a fraction of a second, other-Rip loses hold of the gun – it's flung across the corridor, safely away from either of the Rips – and just as abruptly, other-Rip is thrown back a good six feet, twisting violently in the air and cracking his head against the opposite wall.

Sara stumbles, trying to make sense of the quick series of movement, when the tiny flash of light appears again, and Ray materializes from nowhere – he's wearing his suit, and suddenly other-Rip's unexpected predicament makes more sense. Ray takes a silent gasp of breath, eyes wide with shock, and turns to send a stunned glance at other-Rip – lying on the floor, clearly unconscious. Other possibilities race through Sara's mind, but they're crowded out by the sound of Rip, their Rip, taking a deep and faltering breath.

He leans heavily against the metal wall, eyes wide and slightly wild – Rip turns to glance at Ray, slightly dazed. "Dr. Palmer…" He shakes himself slightly, swallowing. "I – thank y…"

He trails off, staring at his younger self lying crumpled on the ground.

"Rip?" demands Sara anxiously – energy still arcs through her limbs, as if there's something left to do. Rip just stares, for a moment, and then pushes himself away from the wall unsteadily.

"I'm s…" He meets Sara's eyes for half a second, before his gaze darts away; his hands twitch, and one still slowly drips blood. His eyes seem very far away – he abruptly backs away, turning on heel and striding off down the corridor. They all stare after him, gaping with unsaid words left on their tongues – Sara has no idea what she might have said, though, and she doesn't think it's any different for the others.

They turn to stare at one another, instead – wide eyes meeting wide, stunned eyes. None of them find anything to say, and on the floor beside them, other-Rip breathes in quick, shallow breaths.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody - you guys get a chapter and a _half_ today. There was just nowhere to end it - I'm sure you won't object. Anyway! I survived finals - with As! I think! - and so I spent the weekend writing this. It was honestly pretty tough - read:long - and I tried very hard to keep everyone in character, so...we'll see how that goes. Thanks to Comet13 for some inspiration on this chapter - I'm not sure I did things exactly how you were imagining, but I hope you like it anyway.   
>  Lastly - thank you all for your comments!! I love you people.

For a while, it seems as if none of them are ever going to stop just standing there, gazing around with wide eyes and taking slow, shaky breaths.

Of course, that's not what all of them are doing. Sara breathes and casts her own wide eyes around, and she tries to squash the flaring alarm that has _now_ , of all times, risen up and taken hold of her. Across the corridor from her, Ray looks just as frazzled. It's understandable, as he was the one who wound up tossing other-Rip through the air and slamming him against that unforgiving metal wall.

Sara presses her lips together and casts another wary glance at the unconscious version of Rip Hunter, just as Ray apparently has the same thought.

"I – I didn't mean to…" Ray blinks, staring at Sara and then turning to look at the others with his huge eyes. He looks utterly flabbergasted, as if other-Rip's current predicament were a very unexpected and undesired side effect. He swallows heavily, his words tumbling over one another. "I was only trying to stop them, I didn't mean to throw him so hard, I was just…"

Sara stops his rambling with a look. "We know, Ray."

Behind them, Kendra and Jax wear expressions of matching horror, Stein frowns in alarmed apprehension, and Snart scowls at the scene with a mixture of concern and distaste. Rory's customary expression of detached annoyance has even acquired a hint of interest, even if only for the flurry of motion and danger they had just experienced. Sara casts her eyes over them all, breathing and wishing that pulling on her calm, collected mask wasn't quite so hard to do at the moment.

She does it, though, shaking herself forcefully. "We need to move him," she says, nodding at other-Rip. "Get him to the medbay." She leaves it there, not feeling the need to elaborate. Ray nods, slightly queasy.

Ray and Jax carry other-Rip from the corridor back into the medbay, and they lay him down on the same gurney that he had occupied mere minutes before. They tell Gideon to give him a sedative – an assuredly _effective_ one – and they all take note of the grey pallor to the unconscious man's skin, and the not-quite-adequate readings being projected on the wall. Gideon had already healed the injury that other-Rip had acquired while fighting Savage's soldiers, earlier, but not enough, and there are still so many things that _aren't_ within Gideon's power to fix. It's frustrating, and worrisome, and it sends an unsettling drop of anxiousness through Sara's gut to even think of the implications –

Which is why, as soon as other-Rip is settled and secure in the medbay, they all glance at each other as if they are all nodding, agreed on a common agenda. If anything, it's familiar in the fact that it's not one that Rip would approve of.

"You know who I'll bet Rip really doesn't want to talk to right now?" Ray asks in an almost light tone – his question sounds circular, and it barely takes a raised eyebrow for him to answer himself. "…Any of us."

"Then it's a good thing Rip already knows that our main priority _isn't_ giving him what he wants." Snart casts his sharp eyes over them all before moving towards the medbay door in his rolling gait. He stops to lean casually against the doorframe, a careless smirk firmly in place – it flippantly hides the actual concern lurking in his eyes. "I, for one, am very interested in hearing what he has to say about all of _this_."

"We mustn't pressure him," says Stein quickly, frowning gravely. "After all of this – I fear that Captain Hunter is in a rather unbalanced state, and perhaps an _interrogation_ isn't the best course of action –"

"Maybe not, Grey, but lying to us _again_ wasn't the best 'course of action' either, was it –" Jax starts in agitation, gesturing broadly, and Kendra cuts him off.

"Jax is right," she says firmly, glancing at him briefly. Her neck is adorned with a smooth white bandage that covers the cut completely – it had taken Ray's insistence to get her to wear it. "But I also agree Professor Stein. We shouldn't press him too hard – maybe we should give him some distance."

"Time for him to stew himself in guilt and self-pity, you mean?" Snart cuts in snidely, and Kendra sends him an annoyed glance.

"I just mean, Rip's dealing with a lot, and I know what it feels like to be confronted by the person who you once were," Kendra says empathetically. She pauses, frowning at her choice of words. "Well – not this _literally_ , but – still. I don't think pushing him is the best –"

"Okay, look," Sara intervenes loudly. Her voice is firm enough that everyone stops arguing, turning to look at her inquisitively. She scowls with a hint of disapproval, meeting each of their eyes. "We're not letting Rip shut himself away in his study, and we're not letting him do anything that he might regret later. We're not gonna _interrogate_ him–" she nods at Stein –"but I think a chat would do us all some good. Rip especially."

There are no objections. Sara almost wonders when they all started listening to her so easily – and why Rip's words are so easily dismissed. Now's not the time – they all glance at other-Rip, as they walk out, and collectively hope that this time, he stays where they leave him. The swish of the medbay doors closing behind them sounds both comforting and ominous, like a promise and a prediction – that other-Rip will be safe, and that perhaps _their_ Rip won't be.

Sara shakes off the thought, and they head for the flight deck in silence.

* * *

The first glance that they catch of Rip isn't at all a reassuring one. He's standing by the cluttered table in his study, hunched over its edge with his left forearm braced against the surface – his right arm is curled against his torso. He bows his head low, hiding his face – it almost looks like he's in pain.

Sara quickens her pace, frowning at the sight. "Rip?"

Their Captain doesn't seem to hear her. If anything, he seems more inwardly focused than ever; he hunches further, and his left hand clenches into a tight fist. Sara exchanges an alarmed glance with Ray, whose eyes have gone wide with apprehension.

"Rip!"

They rush forward, and Sara bites her lip mercilessly when the realization kicks in. Shouldn't they know by now – after dealing with time travel and all its quirks for so long – why had they not thought of this sooner? They'd only just experienced the same thing with the Pilgrim – _what if he's been affected by other-Rip's injuries?_

Ray and Sara only make it to the bottom step into the study when Rip moves suddenly, pushing away from the table unsteadily and lifting his left hand into the air – a signal for them to stop. They falter in their forward charge, frowning uncertainly, and behind them the others do the same.

Rip straightens slowly, his movements painstaking until he's upright – Sara doesn't miss how he keeps his left hand pressed lightly against the table for support. His right hand, meanwhile, is kept locked tightly against his abdomen – exactly where other-Rip had been shot. His knuckles are smeared with dark blood, and they leave red smudges on his vest. To the others, the sight might be on the verge of convincing – but to Sara, it's nothing more than a façade.

"You're hurt," says Sara accusingly. Rip's gaze flits up momentarily, and an instant later he ducks his head in a show of what's clearly _not_ conceded defeat. He shakes his head in a single brisk motion, and it's immediately very unpopular.

"It's because of the other you, isn't it?" Ray states bluntly – it's not much of a question. He swallows heavily, pressing his lips together guiltily. "He was already hurt, and then I – I probably just made things a lot worse."

Rip shakes his head again, grimacing. "No, it wasn't – I'm perfectly alright–"

"You're _not_ alright," Kendra bursts out, an anxious frown carved into her forehead. "We _saw_ what happened to younger you, back with Savage's soldiers – this is the same thing that happened to Ray, when the Pilgrim came after us–"

"On the contrary," Rip intersects, throwing back his head with eyes raised to the ceiling. "It's actually _not_ quite the same thing, and as I said, I am perfectly fine–" He cuts himself off with a sharp wince, and presses his hand even more forcefully against his stomach.

" _Rip_ –!"

"Not quite the same thing," repeats Rip shakily, straightening again. He says it like it clarifies something – Sara only frowns the harder, uncomprehending. Rip tilts his head at an odd angle, blinking forcefully. "When the Pilgrim attacked Dr. Palmer back in 2014, his death was certain and would have undoubtedly come to pass had we not intervened. That's why _our_ Ray experienced those same injuries while his timeline was put into jeopardy."

Ray nods slowly, puzzled, and Sara feels much the same. Rip swallows, shaking himself almost imperceptibly – Sara narrows her eyes as he continues. "This situation is different, as my… younger counterpart… was never in danger of certain death. Even now, m-his injuries are – inconsequential. There was never any _certain_ danger to my timeline."

Rip stumbles over every mention of his past self, pausing at his choice of words in distaste. He ticks his fingers against the table that he still leans against ever-so-slightly, unwilling to show a need for support. "Even so – for a past version of one's self to sustain such injuries, especially in the current circumstances, is not something that will lightly be absorbed by time and its tendency of elasticity. These are not actual injuries, only–"

"It's an echo," interjects Rory, his tone blunt and matter-of-fact. Rip glances up at him, his expression bordering on surprise – it's times like these that they all remember who Rory once was, and how easy it is to sometimes forget. Rory just stares back, eyebrows raised blatantly.

"Quite right," says Rip at length, nodding. "Nothing more than an echo – a wave through time, unfolding as the events of this alteration solidify. Almost like a – a memory, one that I haven't had yet. An impression. Harmless, if a bit uncomfortable–" He winces again, clenching his hand against his midriff, and trails off with a sigh.

They stare at him for a moment, silent – unsure on whether or not they should believe his dismissive explanation. After a long pause in which Rip evasively averts his eyes from their insistent scrutiny, he releases his breath in a huff that sounds miserably like an attempted laugh. "That's the trouble with paradoxes, I suppose…"

Sara crosses her arms, setting her shoulders and deciding to move on to other matters for the moment. "Yeah, speaking of _paradoxes_ –" She lifts an eyebrow, and Rip looks away immediately, clenching his jaw tersely.

"I'd prefer not to discuss–"

"Too bad," says Snart quickly – he leans against one of the jump seats, arms crossed and expression defiant. "We're discussing it."

Snart's words seem to cover everyone's attitude on the subject – Jax nods his agreement from where he stands by the console, and Rory grunts in affirmation. Sara continues to watch Rip – he takes a deep breath, releases it slowly, and continues to avert his eyes. Finally he shakes his head again, the movement slight but simultaneously momentous. He lifts his head to look at them gradually, and Sara doesn't have to search hard to find the cracks in his cool mask.

"What exactly is there to _discuss_ , Mr. Snart?" Rip's voice is halting, and he tilts his head along with his reproachful-sounding words.

Before Snart can reply – and judging by the look on his face, it wouldn't have been a very pleasant remark – Stein speaks up, taking a few steps forward.

"Captain, as much as you try to ignore it, the fact remains that we are indeed trying to _help_ you," says Stein slowly, every word tightly wound as if he were pressing the truth into the air. "In much the same way that you have helped us, in multiple instances throughout our time with you. It would certainly be a much more manageable task if you would allow us to attempt it."

Rip closes his eyes, and his scowl sharpens – though perhaps that's only another wince at the 'echo' that he's pressing his hand against violently, looking as though he's trying to squash it out of existence. When his eyes blink open again, Sara can see that another fragile piece of Rip's careful mask has fallen away.

"I – I don't need – I don't–" Rip shakes his head agitatedly, swallowing heavily. "I appreciate the effort, Professor, but I – I really would prefer –"

"We don't actually care what you _prefer_ , Rip," says Sara quietly, and her voice easily fills the space. "Because you don't seem to ever prefer what's best for you."

Rip falls silent, working his jaw tensely; he stands before them, and seems more slumped than ever. He stares at the floor, and then he stares at the wall, and then he lifts his gaze to face them. Rip sighs in something like defeat, shrugging and gesturing loosely with his non-injured arm.

"I – I really don't know what you want me to say."

It must be their expressions of incredulity that force Rip to continue, scoffing lightly at his own words. "I mean I – of course, there's probably quite a bit to – er, say, but uh…" Rip sniffs deliberately, turning his gaze upwards and pressing his lips tightly together. "I don't… I try not to, uh…"

Rip trails off again – it seems like every syllable needs to be forced out, a long and painful process. He huffs out a terse breath, pressing onwards. "I _avoid_ dwelling on my past – _that_ past – as much as possible, for reasons that are – well, most likely obvious at this point," mutters Rip tightly. "Which is, er…"

"Which is why you didn't tell us that there are a bunch of Rip-doppelgangers running around 2166?" Rory states his assessment, less disapproving than he is unsurprised.

Rip pauses, managing to look slightly abashed as he shrugs ruefully. "It, er, didn't strike me as all that relevant, and as time normally attempts to smooth out any potential paradoxes, I didn't find it necessary…" he exhales, grimacing.

"Well," drawls Snart, tilting his head into a cutting smile. "That wasn't very smart, now was it?"

Their captain rolls his eyes slightly, sighing at Snart's remark. "Obviously _not_ the best call that I've made," Rip admits, drumming his fingers quietly along the table top beside him. He looks up at their expectant silence, wordlessly urging him to continue – Rip swallows visibly, as if he's resolving himself to continue.

He releases a very nearly shaky breath, reluctantly meeting their eyes with another subtle wince. "…As I've already told Dr. Palmer, and as he has undoubtedly told you all, I… I've an, er – a rather tangled history with this particular time and place." He grinds his jaw, chewing on his words. "After I failed to kill Savage in ancient Egypt, I came here and I tried – I _tried_ to save my family. I – _ignored_ the timeline, the knowledge that _time wants to happen_ , all of that; I just…I had to."

He stares blankly at the distant wall, apparently oblivious to the glimmering sheen that his eyes have acquired.

"I tried to save them – to get them onto the Waverider, away from Savage – but things…didn't go according to plan," mutters Rip, exhaling in a sardonic huff. He curls his left hand into a fist, emphasizing his words. "So I tried again, and again, and … it didn't ever matter. I tried _so many times_ , and no matter what I did, it just…wouldn't…"

Rip shakes himself abruptly, scrubbing his left hand over his face roughly while pressing his right fiercely into his abdomen. After taking a deep, steadying breath – his eyes still shine with unusual brightness – he shakes his head tersely and releases a heavy sigh. "I shouldn't have done it, I know," says Rip frankly, finally looking up to meet their eyes. "But I – I don't regret it. Even now. I could never have lived with myself if I hadn't…"

"It seems to me that you're hardly living with yourself, even now, Captain," Stein points out carefully, his tone bordering on gentle and firm. " _Either_ version of yourself, that is."

Rip glances at the professor with wide eyes, opening his mouth and saying nothing.

"And _he_ ," interjects Sara, gesturing back towards the medbay, "is definitely not doing a very good job of 'living with himself'. What was it that Gideon said – about _exhaustion_ and _malnutrition_?"

Rip raises his eyebrows in a semblance of surprise, blowing out his cheeks and glancing away guiltily. Gideon remains tactfully silent. "Ah, I, erm…that was–" He trails off in discomfort.

"And don't think that it's escaped our notice that he just tried to _kill_ you," says Kendra uneasily. "Your younger self basically just tried to commit suicide."

Rip closes his eyes, grimacing. "Look, I'm not going to – I can't pretend that it wasn't a – _difficult_ time, for me, it was – quite a rough patch, obviously. I was – angry, and lost, and there were times when I could barely force myself to…to keep trying. There were things I…well I…well it doesn't matter now, not anymore. I did what I had to do, and I made choices that I'm not proud of, and it's – that's all over now. It's done."

His decisive words are met with immediate protest – before Sara can say anything through her scowl of disbelief, Kendra bursts out in objection. "It's _not_ over, Rip!" she exclaims, frowning. "Not for him."

"Yes, and that has nothing to do with us," replies Rip curtly, ducking his head – Sara catches how his frame tightens momentarily, warding off another wince of pain.

"What d'you mean?" Ray asks, confused and more than a little suspicious.

"I _mean_ the same thing that I meant, before all of _this_ happened," says Rip briskly, gesturing at his own predicament as well as the rest of them. "I want him off the Waverider. Without delay."

" _What_?"

Sara impulsively takes a step forward, letting her arms fall to her sides – in threat or in plea, she doesn't know. Whichever works. She lets her disbelief show, frowning at their captain and his painfully stubborn expression.

"Rip, you _can't_ ," stresses Sara, shaking her head. "Not in his condition–"

"That is a definitely not good idea," adds Ray, brows pinched together.

"You mean it's a totally _crazy_ idea–" Jax cuts in, shaking his head skeptically.

Rip just stands there and lets their protest wash over him – he continues to clench and unclench his jaw in irritation, and his right hand is jammed against his side harder than ever. Sara shakes her head slowly, watching him and trying to see a way out.

"Thank you all for your input," retorts Rip in annoyance, sounding anything but grateful. "But perhaps I should remind you that I am actually _in charge_ , which is why this decision isn't up for discussion–"

"Just to clarify," says Snart, disinterested – the concern only shows around his eyes, and in the tight set of his mouth. "The whole concept of 'younger self dies, current self also dies' _is_ still in play here, correct?" Rip turns to give Snart glare that borders on murderous, and Snart nods with a forced smile. "Just checking."

"As I said, his injuries aren't critical, and as I am only experiencing an echo of them–"

"An echo that's kicking your ass," observes Rory gruffly.

Rip sighs with his entire body, slumping in exasperation – the movement is smooth and normal, nearly hiding the smaller motion of his shaking shoulders. "I've said this countless times now, and I'll say it again–"

"We know – we're not Time Masters," says Ray, frowning. "But we do happen to have _eyes_ , Rip, so don't be surprised that we've all noticed how this is affecting you. If you throw your younger self off the Waverider now–"

Sara finishes Ray's train of thought grimly. "You could die."

Rip reaches up to rub at the back of his neck before waving his arm out, punctuating his words. "Or I could _not_ ," he responds, averting his eyes. "I suppose we'll just have to wait and see."

"Rip, that's _insane_ –""You can't be _serious_!"

It's that moment that the crisp voice of Gideon cuts brightly through the protest. "If your younger self is removed from the Waverider at this time, Captain, I predict there to be a ninety-six percent chance that he will encounter Vandal Savage's soldiers before reaching his own ship. In that scenario, he has a six percent chance of–"

"Yes, thank you, Gideon, that'll do," snaps Rip crossly, crossing both arms over his midriff defensively.

Even Gideon is arguing on their side, this time – Sara lets out a huff of exasperation, shaking her head. "Rip," she says, pausing until he turns to meet her eye. "Why would you even consider this? It's just…"

Rip stares for a moment before shaking his head, frowning dubiously. "Why?" He narrows his eyes, looking between them all as if they are the ones who've proposed something ridiculous. " _Why_? After everything – do you even need to ask that question?"

None of them budge in their unrelenting stares – Sara shrugs slightly, exasperated. "Yes, it looks like I do."

Rip runs his free hand over his face, exhaling in a tense, drawn-out sigh. "Why?" He asks, leaning forward temporarily – he scowls, frustrated at their lack of understanding. "Well, amongst the half a dozen reasons that present themselves, there's the fact that he's _dangerous_ , and after what he's already done, I am _not_ having him aboard this ship. I won't risk it."

"And you'll risk your own death instead?"

The protest does nothing but rile him up even further. "He is a _danger_ , Sara! To all of you – look what happened to Kendra! And what could have happened – I am _not_ going to allow anything like it to happen again, and I am _certainly_ not going to allow _myself_ to be the one that does it. I can't – I won't have it. Whatever the risk."

Jax pipes up hesitantly, offering an attempt at reassurance. "Look, Rip, we can handle ourselves–"

"It's not your defensive ability that I'm putting into question, Mr. Jackson." Rip shakes his head again, pressing his left hand against his forehead. His next words are less sharp, instead more of a mutter – he raises his eyes haltingly. "…I can't have him here. I can't – I can't bear it."

He falls silent, and so do the rest – Sara thinks that by now, they must all understand. She sighs again, gathering her words. "And you know what we couldn't bear, Rip?" She asks, and continues before he even turns to look at her. "Standing by and watching you continue to punish yourself for your past. We're not gonna let you."

Rip sways on his feet, blinking back a hint of tears. "That – that's very touching," murmurs Rip quietly, looking away. "But – I'm afraid that doesn't quite solve the problem at hand–"

Sara raises her eyebrows, and Rip trails off – as if she's somehow managed to dispel his doubt. "We'll figure it out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. - I also managed _not_ not to leave you guys hanging off a cliff this time. Who knew? Stay tuned for more!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Have a new chapter...  
> (another ridiculously long chapter)(i swear this isn't intentional)

Patience is probably one of the most useful skills that the League ever taught Sara.

She can stand still for hours, if she needs to – she can perch quietly in some out-of-the-way corner, unmoving, as she watches for her target. Her patience will sometimes slip, of course – she's not perfect, and her emotions sometimes do get the better of her. Sometimes. Most of the time, though, she just stays. Her patience lets her think – it lets her mind quieten, settling into a pool of silence, clear and undisturbed.

This time, she sits next to other-Rip's bedside, waiting patiently for him to wake up.

This waiting doesn't present any challenge – it's a much-appreciated lull, and it gives Sara time to think. She lounges with her head resting on her palm, watching her 'target' absentmindedly – she uses the time to examine him more closely, noting all the reasons why she should've noticed he was different right from the start. This Rip is a little gaunter, a little more ragged; his facial hair is slightly grown out, bordering on unkempt. But he does have the same coat, and he's wearing practically the same outfit as their Rip underneath it. It makes Sara wonder – because, either this man really has no ambition whatsoever in the area of fashion, or _this_ past isn't as far in the past as she would have thought.

Sara finds herself hoping that it's the former, but it's a doubtful hope.

Rip wasn't happy about Sara's plan to talk to other-Rip herself – he'd protested, forbid it, forbid it again, and then given an exasperated rant about the team's lack of obedience when all of that failed. Sara didn't care, of course, and neither did any of the others. Rip obviously doesn't know what's best for him in this situation, and Sara had been confident that she wasn't about to get killed by a younger version of Rip when their _current_ Rip didn't even have a hope of making a dent in her. After promising Rip that it was going to be _fine_ , really, and telling Stein to keep an eye on him – they still don't know how much of an impact this 'echo' injury can make on Rip, and Sara definitely doesn't want their captain to lock himself away again only to bleed out in solitude – she left them all on the flight deck, making her way back to the med bay alone. Other-Rip was right where they'd left him, this time, and she had made Gideon lock the door behind her. Just in case.

It's been a few hours, probably, and Sara doesn't mind that it could be a few more before other-Rip wakes up again. She has no idea how strong of a sedative Gideon had given him, or how badly he'd needed a long rest in the first place. Another less-than-happy thought – _exhaustion and malnutrition_ , like Gideon had said. Just how much had this Rip gone through before he'd gotten here?

Sara lets the question settle as she does, resolved to wait.

* * *

It probably _is_ hours before other-Rip wakes up – Sara doesn't really know, as she hadn't bothered keeping track. She's slouched in her chair, rubbing her fingers along her scalp absentmindedly, when he shifts with a slight cough.

It's another few moments before he groans weakly, scrunching his face into a faint wince – Sara tells herself not to move, not an inch. Her every muscle stays easily frozen, almost as if he were her actual target – but then, he might just be. She doesn't know yet, but she really hopes that he _doesn't_ leap up with another knife in hand –

Hmm. Maybe she should've searched him for more knives when she'd had the chance.

Other-Rip turns his head in Sara's direction blindly, eyes still squeezed shut, and she hastily dismisses the afterthought. His eyes crack open marginally – it must take a second for his sight to adjust and for him to get his bearings. It's a second _after_ that when other-Rip tenses, eyes going wide as he starts to jolt upright, obviously heading towards the scenario that Sara had just hoped to _not_ experience –

But it seems that the sedative is still affecting him, because his attempt at getting up doesn't get him very far. Other-Rip only sits halfway up before wincing painfully – he cringes into himself, pressing one hand into his abdomen while he gingerly leans away from Sara on his other forearm. He stares at her, alarmed – she might not have known that, if she didn't know Rip's expressions so well. But _this_ Rip doesn't know that…

She doesn't say anything, instead just sitting quietly with her eyebrows slightly raised at other-Rip's reaction. It's a long moment before he lets out a slow breath, frowning at her.

"You again," says other-Rip quietly – his eyes shift cautiously, taking in the empty room around them. "…What are you doing?"

"Keeping an eye on you, for one," replies Sara at length, giving him a slight smirk. "Can't have you running off again. By the way, don't get any ideas about trying to fight your way out of here or anything, 'cause it won't work. League of Assassins, you see." She shrugs lightly, deliberately playing up the nonchalance as she leans further down her seat, tilting her head back lazily.

It seems to work, at least a little – other-Rip's frown deepens, but he slowly lowers himself back down into a more comfortable-looking position. Clearly still on edge, but at least he isn't obviously inflicting pain upon himself anymore.

A rather uneasy silence stretches between them – one that Sara casually ignores. She notes with satisfaction that he appears to have calmed down a lot since he'd last interacted with any of them – he isn't shouting and slamming people into walls, anyway, although something like that could very well be on his mind. Other-Rip's eyes still dart around the room sharply, as if he's looking for the telltale signs of a trap and probably a way out, too. His gaze finally settles on her again, narrowing suspiciously.

"Where is he?" He asks the question in an almost careful manner – he doesn't expect her to respond. It's obvious who he's talking about, though, and Sara can't think of a reason _not_ to respond – after all, it's not like this Rip is going to get the chance to go after their Rip again. It's also not as if the answer to his question isn't obvious already.

She takes a deep breath and slowly releases it. "On the bridge," replies Sara loftily, before leaning forward and crossing her forearms over her knees. "Why? …You want to try to kill yourself again?"

There isn't really an easy way to put it. Rip just blinks at her question, looking away and chewing his jaw tersely.

Sara waits for a long moment, watching as he stares at the distant wall, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly. When it's clear that he's not going to say anything, she draws a breath and speaks. "You've gotta know that your _plan_ is never going to work."

Rip ignores her.

"…In fact, I think that it isn't even a real plan. I think you're just frustrated. Lost. You woke up on this ship, figured out where and when you were, and you made an impulsive decision. A decision based completely on those feelings."

He presses his lips together tightly, still for all appearances _not_ listening, and she would bet anything that he's trying his hardest not to roll his eyes.

"You're angry. Tired. Probably feels like going round in circles – trying again and again to save them, never getting anywhere. I bet you're ready to do almost anything at this point. Or maybe…just anything. Anything at all."

Rip stirs at her mention of 'them', twitching angrily, and he starts fractionally shaking his head throughout the rest of her calm words. He's about to burst out, she can see it – as soon as she pauses in her speech, he lets out a short sigh, still resolutely staring across the room and away from her.

"Look, if I wanted to hear your opinion on the matter, I'd have _asked_ ," snaps Rip through gritted teeth. "So _please_ , stop acting as if you _know_ me and just– just leave me the bloody hell alone."

Sara raises her eyebrows coolly. "I _do_ know you, Rip. I've known you for a while now."

He scoffs at her, shaking his head in irritated disbelief. " _No_ , actually, you _don't_ ," insists Rip, with a scathing note to his voice – it's so familiar, so fully synonymous with that of _their_ Rip, that it almost makes her mistake the cold anger in his eyes for a more familiar sort of stubborn dismay. "You know a _version_ of me. One that I don't intend to become, not if I can help it."

"Well, unfortunately for you, you _can't_ help it," says Sara briskly. She straightens, folding her arms over her chest while maintaining her scrutiny of him. "Some things never change."

"Is that right?" He asks sarcastically, his tone becoming biting. "Born a member of the League of Assassins, were you? Have you always been such a stubborn conversationalist, or is that a new trick they're teaching in case you ever wanted to _irritate_ your targets to death?"

 _Oh good, British insults_. Sara calmly ignores the latter half of Rip's little outburst, sighing patiently. "No, I wasn't born a member of the League. Neither were you born a Time Master. But I like to think that there are some things that don't change." She smiles crookedly, letting her head tilt back lazily. "For instance – I definitely wasn't always an assassin, but I _was_ always a survivor. I'd never have gotten this far if I hadn't been."

Still deliberately _not_ looking at her, Rip raises his eyebrows disinterestedly and blows out a slow sigh of pointed boredom.

"You've always been a survivor, too," she continues, ignoring his antics. "You know what else you've always been?"

Rip rolls his eyes, lifting a hand in slightly violent gesture. "Pray, do tell," he retorts, sounding almost painfully skeptical at this point. It sounds so much like something _their_ Rip would say that Sara can't help but smirk slightly, feeling a little spark of warmth in her chest. _Maybe things aren't that bad…_

 _Or maybe, nothing really has changed._ She's suddenly unsure of whether that's a good or a bad thing.

Rip's (still disinterested) gaze has finally shifted over her, though, and Sara forces the thought out of her head. "…You're stubborn. And independent. Or, you try to be, anyway," amends Sara. She pauses for a moment, watching him as he averts his eyes again, a closed expression stealing over his face. "You hold all your problems as close as you possibly can, and you refuse to let anyone else help. Even when you _do_ reach out about something – you still keep everyone at arm's length, and you try to hide what's bothering you. Even when whatever it is you're trying to hide is obvious to everyone else."

When Rip continues to resume studiously ignoring her, Sara reaches out and firmly pokes his shoulder with her finger. "And _that_ , Rip, is definitely something that hasn't changed."

He flinches almost comically at the touch, turning to give her a nearly scandalized glare – Sara merely smiles with a minimal amount of mischief mixed into her expression. Rip grimaces sourly as his gaze flits between her face and the offended limb. "…Quite an extensive analysis," he mutters dryly. "Actually, it's a rather disturbing one as well, considering the fact that I have literally no idea who you are – and also _no_ desire to find out!" He adds hastily, scowling, when Sara grins wryly at his words.

"Sara Lance, former citizen of Star City and League of Assassins member," she says brightly, making a mock bow of introduction. "…and currently Captain Rip Hunter's trusted second-in-command." She grins all the wider at the last bit, even though it's basically true anyway – although, she probably wouldn't get very far with saying something like that with the other team members, or their own Rip Hunter, in the area.

The younger Rip rolls his eyes exasperatedly, sighing heavily. "Oh, well, bloody brilliant then," he snaps in annoyance. "I suppose I'd shake your hand, but under the circumstances…"

"That's all right," replies Sara easily, leaning back in her seat again. "You'll get the chance to do that eventually. Although – I actually don't think that you ever shook my hand when we met the first time…" She frowns, absently thinking back to that distant day.

Rip watches her with a frown, brows pinched together. "How terribly negligent of me," he says, not sounding very sorry at all. "…Very well, Ms. Lance – since you seem so dead set on conversation, tell me this: how did you come to join your Captain Hunter's crew aboard the Waverider?"

Sara senses that there's probably a (very pointed) point to Rip's new train of thought, but it still feels like progress to her – she shrugs internally, pursing her lips before replying. "Actually, you lied to us to get us to join you," says Sara lightly. "You told us that we were all legends in your time and that was the reason why you chose us to help you defeat Savage. That wasn't _exactly_ the case, sadly...but we all decided to stay anyway."

He scoffs at that, seeming somehow more irritated than previously. "Well, you have my condolences on your… _unfortunate_ decision," says Rip scathingly, shaking his head. "Although, I'm not in the least bit surprised that I had to _lie_ to you all in order to convince you. Because, as you say, some things never change – and this certainly hasn't. Rip Hunter, in any instance, is not someone that you should trust."

He pauses there, looking away with something akin to guilt on his face – Sara raises an eyebrow, and after a long moment he continues. "You _don't_ know me, you don't know what I've done – you can say that you do, but how can you _know_ that in the first place? I've already lied to you once. Who's to say that I haven't lied to you about the rest of it? About everything? About who I am… what I've done…what I've been through…" He shakes his head dismissively, averting his eyes.

And really…it's a valid point. It's not as if it hasn't already crossed Sara's mind, anyway. After that first trip that they went on with Rip – after he finally admitted that he had lied to them, and that he was really trying to save his family above all – well, Sara had had her doubts. But still – there _had_ been a reason why she'd stayed. It was the same reason why she never dwelled on the possibility of Rip having told them more lies again.

Sara watches Rip quietly for a long moment, tilting her head contemplatively. "You could be right," she says eventually. "But you're a little wrong too. Because…sometimes, lies about the big things don't really matter so much. You know? And maybe you could lie about what you've done, or what you've been through – but you can't lie about _who_ you are. And _that's_ what's really important."

He continues to look away from her, still appearing stubbornly adverse to what she's saying – and really, Sara almost feels strange talking so much about this to him. What's really strange, though, is that it _doesn't_ really feel all that strange – it's almost serene, oddly comfortable. That sensation is probably helped along by the fact that neither Rip will remember this at all, in the end.

"Maybe I don't really know what you've done or what you've been through," continues Sara, watching Rip seriously. "But I _do_ know the version of you that survived all that. I know what sort of person you are, and the sort of person you'll still be after all this is over. And that's why…I know that _you_ , the real you, wouldn't ever go through with this weird suicide plan. Not when you've had the chance to clear your head."

It doesn't seem like exactly the right thing to say – Sara hasn't even finished speaking when Rip snorts derisively, clenching his jaw.

"Is that right," he mutters, his lips twisting angrily. "Is that right…" The expression on his face is clear as day – _you don't know what you're talking about_.

Sara is silent. It doesn't seem like he can handle maintaining his forced position of reclined relaxation any longer – Rip ticks his fingers agitatedly before shooting upright, letting out a short sigh. She doesn't move, just lets him; he only swings his legs over the side, turning to sit in a rather hunched position. A faint beeping starts emanating from somewhere, but they both ignore it.

Rip stares at her for a long moment – his frown looks like it wants to be more like a scowl of distaste, but that doesn't hide the hint of desperation that has somehow stolen into his expression. "You don't….you don't," says Rip quietly, twisting his hands together in agitation. "…You don't know that."

She waits. A quiet lull stretches out, disturbed only by the slight sound of Rip's hands rubbing together incessantly – it's a twitch, an unforgiving fidget. Sara is patient, and he eventually shakes his head again, drawing an unsteady breath.

"…You don't know what I would do," mutters Rip darkly, eyes downcast. "I–I may hate the Time Council for their blindness. You probably know that much. And, I certainly _despise_ Vandal Savage for all that he's done. But – you don't – you can't…" He pauses, sighing shakily and gritting his jaw.

"…Despite all that, Ms. Lance, there is still _no one_ that I loathe more than myself. No one. So you don't know – you have no idea what I would do. You can't possibly."

He steels himself to the admonition, clenching his jaw and looking away tersely. Sara watches quietly, frowning, and she waits for shock – she almost wishes that she were surprised, that she were dumbfounded by words she'd never expected him to utter. She's not, though. This, too seems just a little too much like something that _their_ Rip would say.

She doesn't think she'd be shocked if their Rip _did_ say it, either. _Some things…_

She does find herself a little speechless, though, but that's only because she's not sure there _is_ an adequate response to something like that. "Rip…" she starts, trailing off. "You're not – you're not a bad _person_ , Rip. You shouldn't – don't compare yourself to them."

"Not a bad person?" Rip bursts out, scowling incredulously at her. " _Not a bad person_? Do you even–" He scoffs shortly, leaning back in frustration. "Look – Savage may be an evil monster, but I – _I'm_ the one who decided not to kill him back in Egypt. _I'm_ the one who couldn't save my family, and who _still_ can't. _I'm_ the one that left them – I was the one who had to go off and try to be a Time Master, leaving my wife and son alone, because my career was _so_ important, wasn't it–"

Sara finds herself straightening, leaning away from him and his furious tirade – Rip bites back a heated sigh, pressing his lips together. His hands are shaking, and he clenches them fiercely. "The members of the Time Council are fools, and Savage is pure evil," says Rip slowly, his voice breaking. "But _I_ …I was just – a coward. A poor excuse for a Time Master, a poor excuse for a husband, and a poor excuse for a father."

He sits there, trembling ever so slightly – Sara doesn't miss the sheen of moisture that his eyes have acquired, but she bites her lip and decides not to comment on it. "Stop it, Rip," she says instead, her frown deepening. "Look, I – I _know_ where you're coming from, I really do. But you're wrong. And all of this – punishing yourself? It's not going to fix anything."

Rip shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "You don't know that."

"I do," Sara insists – she leans forward with her elbows on her knees, her expression turning earnest. "A while ago, I thought I was a monster. I used to hate myself. I didn't think that there was any way for me to find redemption, or a purpose, or any way to get rid of the guilt. D'you know who changed my mind?" Rip's frown deepens, but he turns away and Sara continues persistently. " _You_ did, Rip. You're the one who convinced me to stop punishing myself."

He scoffs again, frowning darkly. "That's a tad hypocritical."

"Then _change_ it!" Rip refuses to meet her eyes, and Sara doesn't relent in her stare despite the growing redness of his eyes. "Stop trying to get revenge on yourself! You're not gaining anything but more pain."

He clenches his jaw, ignoring her words, and Sara presses on. "Do you know what your future self is trying to do?" asks Sara determinedly, not waiting for an answer. "He's doing his best to make up for all the mistakes he's made. He's trying to put it right. And here _you_ are, angry at him when he's the one trying to move forward. Do you really want to take all that away just because you feel guilty? What's the point, Rip?"

She's never really been the delicate type, but even she usually knows when to stop – but it's harder with Rip, because he locks down on his pain until he can't hold it back anymore. Sara pauses for breath, watching him as he sits there, stock still for a long moment – he finally reaches up shakily, pressing a hand to his mouth.

"I'm not…" Rip starts thickly, blinking forcefully. "I'm not _guilty_ … Not just that."

He looks away again, turning his face upwards while he blinks back tears as if she can't see them. He sighs heavily, seeming to exhale out all of the strength in his entire body. "…it's mostly…I just- I don't know. I can't – I've tried _so_ many times, over and _over_ and I just can't – I don't know. I don't _know_ what to _do_ –"

She's done it before – there are times when Sara doesn't stop to think, when she simply acts on instinct because there really isn't any other choice. She can't _not_ , and she rarely regrets it – and she doesn't stop to think about it now. Rip curls in on himself convulsively, as if a stabbing pain has suddenly erupted in his chest, and he tries to bite back a sob to no avail – and Sara just moves without thinking, getting up and reaching forward to embrace him tightly. He doesn't put up any sort of fight – he just shakes slightly in her grasp, and Sara presses her lips together tightly and closes her eyes.

"It's okay," says Sara softly, not that she really thinks he's listening – not that it matters. Rip, this Rip, probably hasn't had a chance to fall apart in a long time, and Sara just stays and hugs him tighter. She refuses to let a tear of her own fall – but she can't help but think of _their_ Rip, the one who probably hasn't had a chance to fall apart in an even longer while.

She doesn't need patience now – she just stays, trying not to think, while Rip quietly cries into her shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...*sobs* Poor Rip. Why do I do this to myself...? 
> 
> This chapter got waay to long, again - it's all dialogue! Every time I write dialogue, it just...grows...ugh. I hope that you liked this anyway, and that it wasn't too obnoxiously long or out of character for either of them... 
> 
> Oh and also - you may have noticed that I made this story part of a series! Yeah, because I write just too many random Legends stories...and I thought I'd just tie them all together officially. I've been working on another oneshot recently and I'll probably post that later today...more angst. I can't stop. 
> 
> Anyways - thank you for all the comments and kudos, as always! There will probably be about two chapters more after this. Although, knowing me...well, that could very well grow into half a dozen.... eesh. Tell me what you think! :) 
> 
> Extra AN (I swear there's an end to this): Also, have y'all seen the trailer for the next episode?? RIP! RIP ANGST!! I can't wait. Also, I can't wait for him to get his memories back or whatever the heck is going on, because I want him to be British again... :(


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments everyone!

The swishing sound of the med bay doors opening once again comes with a quiet melancholy and a faint satisfaction steeped in the much stronger feel of dismay – not the perfect outcome, but it's better than so many other options. Sara leaves with a frown, and she makes sure that Gideon locks the door behind her. It's not really in prevention of Rip's past self escaping, though. That possibility is no longer on her list of things to worry about.

Rip – other-Rip, younger Rip, but still just Rip in all the ways that count – is sleeping once again, hopefully not far from a complete recovery from his injuries. Sara had asked Gideon to give him another sedative after they'd finished their  _conversation_. He hadn't really been up for much talking after being reduced to tears, but that didn't really matter – Sara had gotten what she needed. After what she'd just witnessed, all that's happened in the past few hours seems impossible – what happened with Kendra, and then the encounter between Rip and his double, were both displays of such wildly different behavior than now. Younger-Rip is unstable, and most likely still out of control. She knows that's true, and yet…

She's no Time Master, but she'd be willing to bet that their talk had effectively caused younger Rip to abandon his makeshift plan of vengeance by suicide. Despite whatever he's going through, the fact remains that he's  _Rip Hunter_ , and that name comes with a certain indispensable morality. She hadn't been certain if that morality would apply to himself, but now…Sara knows he won't be able to bring himself to go through with it, and now that  _he_  knows that, it should be over.

That's good, and that's where the satisfaction comes from. But at the same time – Sara somehow doesn't think that anything she'd said or done had convinced Rip to give himself a chance at forgiveness.

That knowledge is what gives the satisfaction a bitter twist.

She marches down the corridor, head bowed whilst deep in thought – deeper in thought that she'd normally allow herself to become, apparently, as she doesn't notice the figure making his way towards her until they're just a few yards away from one another.

Rip clears his throat slightly, head ducked as he approaches her haltingly – his fingers are pressed together in a steeple shape, and his expression is a strange mix of hesitant apology and gratitude. Sara can't help but draw up, her footsteps faltering at just the sight of him.

She blames time travel. But…it's just so strange – no stranger than what the entire team witnessed when Rip's younger self had confronted him, and yet it is. Somehow, this feels different.

Rip pauses when she does, averting his eyes. Sara's quick to snap out of her reverie, shaking herself slightly.

"Rip?" She almost says more –  _what's going on?_  – but something about his expression stays her.

He opens his mouth silently, drawing out the moment of quiet – finally Rip takes a quick breath, glancing up to meet her eyes. "I just thought I'd, um…" He clears his throat again, grimacing slightly, before continuing rather hurriedly. "I just wanted to thank you, Sara, for what you did. What you said – it was, erm…well, I suppose it was what he – or,  _I_ …needed to hear. So – thank you."

Rip shifts on his feet, hands placed on his hips as he ducks his head evasively – but he doesn't look away, and Sara's almost taken aback by the complete sincerity in his eyes. Besides that, there's also a hint of confusion and almost wonderment – but Sara blinks and shakes her head, frowning at him.

"Hang on," says Sara slowly, cocking her head to the side. "Do you…remember that now?" The thought was almost more mind-boggling than anything else; to think that she'd just inserted a brand new memory into Rip's head –

But Rip raises his eyebrows at her question before shaking his head dismissively, waving a hand. "No, no – I still have no recollection of this event, which means that our intention to administer an amnesia pill to my former self will still be carried out," says Rip quickly. "Or, at least, it will be, as long as things go according to plan…"

Sara decides not to comment on Rip's use of that statement in particular – her frown deepens, and she crosses her arms. "Then how…?" The realization is a belated one, and her confusion quickly turns into an expression of slightly incredulous accusation. "You were listening in, weren't you."

And that's where that guilty look comes from – Rip lowers his gaze, grimacing with that vaguely pinched apology written all over his face. "I had Gideon access the surveillance channel. I wanted to be certain that everything was…" He seems almost unable to find the right words. "Well, just that my younger self didn't, erm…"

Sara smiles crookedly, tilting her head further. "You were  _worried_  about me?" She lets an appropriate amount of both tease and disbelief color her voice, and Rip immediately looks up to meet her eyes.

"I only – well, I mean–" He cuts himself off and clasps his hands together, raising his eyebrows earnestly. "It's not that I doubted your abilities, Sara, it's just that... that I wasn't certain of my own."

He says the words haltingly, averting his eyes once again. "Or rather, my past self's ability – the ability to…"

"To not try and kill me?" Sara finishes, frowning at Rip.

Her captain simply dips his head in confirmation, twisting his lips regretfully – he draws a deep breath, almost as if he's steadying himself. "After what happened to Kendra, and the – er, the results of that little encounter, I'd ….rather not take any chances." He pauses, blowing out his cheeks as the crease between his eyebrows deepens. "We've had more than enough close calls of late, and I certainly don't intend to let any of the team experience another – especially not  _literally_  at my own hand."

The words echo what Rip had said just a few hours ago back on the bridge. It's yet another blatant acknowledgment to a fact that's beginning to stand out a little to Sara – the fact that Rip doesn't seem to have a shred of faith in his younger self. Even as the thought crosses her mind, Rip continues in his slightly hurried tone.

"I wish I could say that I'm confident nothing like that will happen again, but unfortunately that's not the case. And that is why I plan on taking all necessary precautions. But…" says Rip slowly, a rueful half-smile appearing on his face. "Turns out you didn't need them after all. So – again, thank you."

Sara just stares at him for a long moment, watching as Rip shifts on his feet and looks away after a few seconds. The way he keeps thanking her niggles at something in the back of her mind – it takes her a second, and when the pieces fall vaguely into place, she takes a slow breath and raises her eyebrows at him.

"You're welcome," states Sara blandly, the words sounding completely unnecessary even to her ears. She pauses thoughtfully before continuing. "But, just to be clear…I wasn't just saying all those things because that's what he needed to hear. I  _meant_  all that I said."

Sara had been anticipating a complicated reaction from Rip, and she isn't wrong – his eyes immediately widen in a rather stunned way, and he simultaneously looks as if her words were the very thing that he'd unconsciously hoped for and yet also dreaded. He blinks at her, opening his mouth silently – after a moment, his expression morphs into one of thinly veiled confusion.

Rip's attempt at stoicism is short-lived. "Well – then, I…" He swallows heavily, frowning at the floor. "I, um…"

After Rip has spent a few uncomfortable seconds intensely scrutinizing the floor, Sara decides to save him from having to voice whatever it is he's feeling. She purses her lips and crosses her arms. "You don't agree with me." Sara states bluntly, narrowing her eyes. "About what I said."

Rip heaves a deep sigh, slowly tilting back his head with that conflicted look on his face. "Ahh...I – I can't say that I do," exhales Rip reluctantly, his brow pinching tightly. "And I don't –  _understand_ …why, or…" He trails off uncomfortably before shaking his head in exasperation, backing up a few steps down the corridor.

"But – anyway – it doesn't matter, we really must be getting on with–"

"Rip," calls Sara loudly, effectively cutting off his flustered escape. He pauses, wide-eyed and wary, and she frowns, growing serious – he watches her, and she watches him,  _seeing_  him. She'd always been able to see the cracks in his confidence, but she'd never really thought about just how deeply they ran. "You're not a bad person, Rip. And neither is he."

And maybe she hopes that he'll laugh and assure her that he never doubted it – but there's a long pause, and when finally Rip looks up to meet her eyes, there's a distant sadness and a lingering guilt in them.

"I really do wish that I could believe you, Sara," says Rip slowly, and every syllable sounds painfully sincere. There's a forced calm to his words, but she knows that it's only there because of the difficulty presented by saying them at all. "But…I still just can't be certain of that. Not now – not until…"

It's not surprising, not really. Sara nods, pressing her lips together. "Until Savage is dead."

Rip bobs his head in agreement, frowning. His next words come slowly. "…and until my family is saved."

The sorrow and faint hopelessness in his voice makes Sara pause, temporarily lost for words – because she gets it, she really does, and she almost wishes that she didn't. Sometimes guilt will never go away, not until whatever put it there is fixed. She's felt that before – and she hates it, but she knows that there's really nothing she can do about it. There's nothing she can say that will free Rip of his guilt. Only the accomplishment of his mission can do that.

This really is something that Rip has to get through on his own.

Or, mostly on his own – because she and the team can still help with the mission, and they can still help Rip to accomplish his goal. But the burden that he's always carrying – that is something that no one else can take from him. Perhaps they can try to help ease the weight of it – but, to do that, Rip needs to be willing to accept help in the first place.

Sara clenches her jaw and nods again, her frown deepening. "I understand." And she does. She just wishes that Rip weren't quite so convinced that there's no help to be had.

Rip stands in silence for a while longer, and Sara can easily imagine that he's wrestling his grief back under control. He's apparently got more to say, though – he sighs forcefully, ticking his fingers against his side.

"That being said, I…" He seems to struggle for words, or maybe it's just the strength to say them that he's looking for. "Thankyou, Sara. Truly."

He doesn't sound like he's particularly enjoying their current conversation – but beyond anything else, he sounds sincere. Sara shakes her head with a smile, shrugging with one shoulder.

"Anytime, Captain." And she does mean it – Sara usually hates talking about feelings, but some things are more important. At least Rip seems to be moving in the right direction. She looks him over, frowning when she notices the ever-so-slightly lopsided way that he's been standing all this time. "By the way, how are you doing? With the whole…echo injury deal?"

She had nearly forgotten about it, after her conversation with the other Rip, but at least it doesn't seem to have gotten worse. Rip waves a hand dismissively, shaking his head.

"Oh, it's passing – it's practically faded completely at this point," Rip assures her, rubbing absentmindedly at the injury in question. His wince is nearly nonexistent and this time, Sara can believe that he's not just saying that. "And anyway, the echo was never really a concern in the first place. In fact, it was probably one of the only things that've been manageable recently – it'd definitely be my pick over everything else that's happened."

Rip says the last few words like a joke, almost, except that he ends it with a frown as the deliberate lilt in his tone trails away. Sara's mind flits back to the med bay – the younger version of Rip, looking so defeated – and over everything that they'd just talked about. All of this grave seriousness makes her really want a drink, but before that…

"Aww," says Sara lightly, tilting her head with a playful smile. "Do you need a hug, too?"

Rip jerks his gaze upwards, eyes narrowed with certainty that he'd misheard her – he looks almost affronted. "Sorry?"

Her smile turns into a full-blown smirk as she moves closer, spreading her arms wide. "C'mere," she says, watching with satisfaction as Rip blanches. She almost expects him to try and run away – but then again, even her smirks are a little dangerous.

Rip watches her incredulously, teetering on the verge of flight, as she stalks up and hugs him, making it as exaggerated and obnoxious as possible. She smile only widens with satisfaction as Rip sputters in her grasp, standing stock-still in clear discomfort.

Sara pulls away a few seconds later, grinning at Rip's expression. He doesn't seem to know whether to be irritated or suspicious. "There you go," states Sara, patting his arm firmly – Rip winces, but then Sara's pats are probably more like punches anyway. "Come on, let's get back to the bridge."

And with that, she turns and sets off down the corridor, leaving Rip to trail awkwardly behind her. Around the corner, Snart leans against the wall, twiddling his fingers together with a mischievous sparkle to his eyes.

"Did you just  _hug_  Rip, assassin?"

There's a hint of mirth hidden beneath his bored tone. Sara just smiles at him, raising her eyebrows suggestively, and behind her she hears Rip's exasperated groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on that slightly happier note...I just had to let Rip get another hug. He deserves it. :)


End file.
